


Sunny in Purgatory

by theDukeofEarp



Series: Revenant Slayer Chronicles [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: BtVS S3 Spoilers, F/F, Modern Era, No major character deaths, Wynonna is not a Slayer (sorry), and cannibalism, but there's some violence, highschool, no Nicole Haught in this one (also sorry)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15291807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theDukeofEarp/pseuds/theDukeofEarp
Summary: Perhaps it was the many gothic cemeteries. Perhaps it was the beautiful suburban homes with dirt cheap property values. For lack of a better word, something about Sunnydale was… unsettling. Join a young Wynonna Earp as she trades in her childhood demons for a whole different breed of bad. A Wynonna Earp/Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover fanfic.





	1. Welcome to Sunnydale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Sunnydale High student Wynonna Earp decides chemistry class isn't worth the trouble. After a night out on the town, she discovers the darker side of Sunnydale and finds herself in some serious trouble. Will she be able to escape this blood-sucking variety of undead, or will she be drained dry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After listening to the first ever BuffyEarpers podcast, I felt overcome with the urge to read both Wynonna Earp and Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfiction. Jumping onto AO3, as one does in these moods, I found my search results for a satisfying crossover… wanting. My mind spun with possibilities. This work manifested from that need, and I hope I have done justice to satisfy those WE/BtVS cravings.
> 
> Housekeeping:  
> \- This was conceived of and written during the hiatus after WE S2.  
> \- WE S3 premieres tonight! We'll have to wait and see if the new season foils my efforts to stay relatively canon compliant.  
> \- All events in take place chronologically during BtVS S3.  
> \- Wynonna is 17 years old which makes Waverly 11.  
> \- BtVS S3 took place historically in the 90s, however I've modernized this AU to include cell phones, social media, and other conveniences found in the year 2018.  
> \- Contains spoilers through BtVS S3.  
> \- This story is written and complete. I'm taking time between uploads to draft summaries and author's notes for each chapter. Expect a chapter published every M/W/F for the next four weeks.
> 
> With that out of the way, welcome to chapter 1!

For all intents and purposes, the somewhat isolated town had all the modern conveniences of big city life. It had a zoo, museums, an entertainment district, and excellent shopping opportunities. This population of 38,500 lived in an oasis of civilization only a day’s drive from the forests, the ocean, and the desert. Perhaps it had something to do with the many gothic cemeteries in town. Perhaps it was the plethora of beautiful suburban homes with dirt cheap property values. For lack of a better word, something about Sunnydale was… unsettling.

At 7:13 in the morning that October 9th, a dark green and absurdly normal Toyota Camry pulled up to the curb in front of Sunnydale High School. A surly faced adolescent of 17 years glared down the teeming mass of students that sauntered up the front steps towards the school entrance. They had altogether too much pep for a Monday. If there was anything Wynonna couldn’t stand, it was pep. The woman driving the car was the embodiment of that hated quality, and our hero steeled herself as Mrs. Bleeker turned and looked at her with a smile brighter than the sun itself.

“Here we are! Oh, you are going to have such an incredible first day here at Sunnydale High. I remember my senior year here like it was yesterday.” Wynonna managed a false smile she knew was only half convincing. Fortunately Mrs. Bleeker was far too busy waxing wistfully over the memories of her teenage grandeur to take any notice.

“Mom, we’re going to be late!” Interrupted 16 year old Jeffrey Bleeker from the passenger seat. The teenager sported a mop of curly, black hair that constantly flopped into his face, resulting in a chronic twitch to flip the errant curls out of his eyes. He was overcome with excitement, and he clutched his backpack eagerly. The pursuit of knowledge called to him from those hallowed halls! Wynonna choked back a gag. She wanted nothing to do with that disgusting sentiment.

“Thanks, Mrs. Bleeker.” The woman raised an eyebrow and placed her hand atop Wynonna’s. The gesture was all too emotional and caused a second surge of bile in Wynonna’s throat.

“Wynonna, I hope someday you won’t call me that. We’re family now, you know.” Family? The word made her shudder. The Purgatory Placement Agency may have facilitated the adoption of one exceptionally recalcitrant teenager with a picturesque family from Southern California, but Wynonna was almost 18. This was her means of escape. For five painful years, Wynonna bounced between various foster homes in her tiny hometown of Purgatory, Canada. Needless to say, none of those homes ever worked out. If you could even call them homes. After being institutionalized in a psychiatric ward, working as a drug mule for a corrupt probation officer, and finding animal entrails dumped on her front doorstep, Purgatory had been nothing short of hell on earth.

Why exactly this American family from Southern California ventured to Nowheres-ville Canada for the sole purpose of adopting an older ‘problem’ child was a mystery. But when the Bleeker family from Sunnydale came a-knocking, they brought with them the promise of escape. Escape from the judgement of people that despised her. Escape from her nightmares. Escape from the horrible burden of her family’s legacy. If only she could make it to 18, then she might have a real shot at escaping her fate. Far, far away from Purgatory.

Something in her wrenched when she picked up her new driver’s license that day. Wynonna Earp, California USA. Waverly cried when she showed it to her. That was the last time she’d seen her little sister before she left the country. Waverly would be better off without her there to ruin everything. With a practiced effort, Wynonna repressed the ache that spread across her chest. She was a professional repressor after all. Wynonna grinned another fake smile and slipped her hand out from under Mrs. Bleeker’s clasped hands.

Wynonna and Jeffrey exited the car, and just as she thought she had escaped the lingering awkwardness, she heard Mrs. Bleeker roll down the passenger window and call out. “Have a good time. I know you’re gonna make friends right away. Just think positive!”

“And try not to get kicked out.” Jeffrey muttered under his breath.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He turned to her with a ‘no-shit-Sherlock’ kind of face and rolled his eyes. A lock of hair drooped and he twitched his head unconsciously.

“Look, the fact of the matter is you’re already more than a month behind in curriculum. That’s not your fault, international adoption paperwork is a bureaucratic nightmare, but it definitely puts you at a disadvantage. Sunnydale is a blue ribbon school. It’s not something you can just skate through. You have a lot of catchup work you need to do if you’re going to make it here.” He said everything in a no nonsense, matter-of-factly tone. Jeffrey shrugged his backpack higher and left her without a second thought.

Wynonna mocked him as he walked away, but he was right. Sunnydale was a strange new place with new challenges. And she was alone. This is what she wanted, wasn’t it? A fresh start? Less entrails in lockers? An escape? She pulled out her phone and glanced at the time. It was 7:16. She surreptitiously palmed a cigarette between the phone case and the meat of her palm. If she hurried, she could sneak a drag to calm her nerves before finding her way to homeroom. But where? Her eyes scanned her surroundings for options.

Pillar by the loading bay? No, not enough students over there to blend in with _._ Dogwood tree out front? No, too exposed and too risky. Garbage can by the bench? Perfect _._

She walked non-chalantly over to the bench and pretended to call Mrs. Bleeker on her phone. Easy act to sell. Make it look like you forgot something important in the car and that the world will end if they don’t come back immediately. The small ember smoldered between her fingertips. She held the cigarette low behind the garbage can and relished the surge of nicotine flooding her body. Wynonna, you crafty fox…

A certain large-eared, no nonsense principal didn’t think her attempt at concealment was crafty or well executed. He stepped behind her and swatted the cancer stick from her hand. She spun around in surprise and glared as he squashed the cigarette into the dirt like a particularly offensive insect. He met her anger with his signature deadpan stare. Ah, so this was the new student with the colorful record from up north. Her admittance interview had left quite an impression, and it appears that impression had been right on point. Another troublemaker.

“Ms. Earp.” Wynonna almost snapped at him, but managed to swallow her outrage. She recognized Principal Snyder from her entrance interview. She should probably wait at least a week to make new enemies here in Sunnydale. “If I’m not mistaken, today is your first day on campus. Is it not?” She answered him with angry silence. Chills ran up and down his spine. This one had spunk! Oh, how he relished the thought of crushing that resistance until there was nothing left but sheepish compliance. She would learn.

“Smoking on school grounds is forbidden. Forbidden like the many activities scattered like New Year’s confetti across your permanent record.” He leaned in closer to make his point. “Unlike your new family unit, I don’t do charity. Don’t believe in it. However, seeing as you’re new and coming from somewhat… unconventional circumstances, I will give you advice this once.” He waved his hand at the school like a tour guide at a national monument.

“Your actions in the coming months will strongly affect your future here at Sunnydale High. Do you have a future where you came from?” There it was. Principal Snyder smelled blood in the water as he spotted the flicker of fear and self-doubt in her eyes. Every student had an exploitable weakness that could be used to enforce good order and discipline. “Throw away the opportunities we give you here, and you’ll find yourself left with nothing. Just like before. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

He wheeled her inside, triumphant in his victory. Now all he needed was an awesome selfie with a sick filter, and he had his next #thuglife Instagram status. _No teenage punks get the better of me!_ He grinned impishly. Yeah, that’s good. They came to a halt in the front lobby.

“Do you have your course textbooks?” Nope. He whipped out a notepad and scribbled out a hall pass. “Then for today only, I am excusing you from homeroom to collect them. But don’t loiter too long, and keep your distance from those students that congregate at the library on the daily. They’ll only lead you astray.” Wynonna opened her mouth to ask why when he cut her off abruptly.

“Stay out of trouble, Earp. Find some friends on the right side of the tracks for once. Homecoming is next week and I expect to see you in attendance.” Wynonna began to sputter but he held up his hand to silence her. “Embrace the school spirit. Or else.” The breath of resistance died in her throat and Wynonna nodded silently. She turned towards the library and puzzled over the strange remarks Snyder left her with. Make good friends, good choices, but don’t fall in with the library study bugs? What a strange man.

Her paranoia reared its ugly head. She knew more than anyone that sometimes people were not exactly who, or what, they appeared to be. And Sunnydale was so perfectly and inexplicably odd. Keep your distance from the students in the library… She pulled up short of the library doors and peered through the porthole window, expecting to see something off-putting or bizarre. What she saw almost made her laugh.

A short, blonde girl held a redhead and two boys hostage with a very convoluted and ridiculous presentation on the very event Synder insisted she attend: Homecoming. The spirited blonde excitedly jabbed a giant pointer at various sketches, time tables, and the name CORDELIA scribbled in large, red font. Snyder was right. She wanted no part in that garbage.

Wynonna pushed through the doors and noticed an older gentleman in tweed standing to the side polishing his glasses. He reeked of knowledge. Definitely the librarian. She leaned against the counter and tapped the tiny metal bell. Its high pitched peal brought the librarian out of his daze, and he took notice of the tall brunette leaning on his counter. He replaced his glasses and cleared his throat before walking up to her. Was he wearing a pinky ring?

“Dreadfully sorry, I was just watching…”

“A trainwreck?”

“Quite.” He laughed. “Pardon, I don’t believe I’ve seen you here at school before.” Wynonna swore she could see a phantom of a single earlobe piercing. Color me intrigued, she thought.

“Uh, I’m Wynonna and I’m new. Both to the school and in town.” She passed him her course list. He looked surprised and laughed a bit.

“Lovely name, that. Well Wynonna, I’m Mr. Giles. Welcome to Sunnydale High, where something weird is always going on.” Wynonna watched his face falter. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Something weird? He tried to backtrack in reaction to her distressed expression. “I meant in reference to… Sorry, bit of an inside joke. Forget I said anything. You’ll be wanting textbooks then?” He busied himself pulling books from a nearby shelf.

 _Get it together_ , Wynonna thought to herself. _He’s clearly socially awkward and you’re reading way too much into things. This is what projecting your insecurities looks like._ She shook her head and unclenched her hands. This was probably a side effect of not taking the psych meds she’d been on for years. It was a recent decision to stop. She still had 3 refills on the prescription. Coming off them was probably making her more paranoid than usual. But she didn’t need them, because she wasn’t… crazy. She didn’t need medication anymore. She was starting over.

The no longer captive audience appeared to have elected a new leader and followed a very fashionable girl in very fashionable heels out of the library. They looked like a group of guilty dogs. The blonde moped and sipped at a sweet tea.

“Who’s queen brisk of bossy town?” Wynonna asked humorously.

“Both.” Giles responded wryly. The blonde trudged up to the counter and huffed, clearly looking for some sort of comforting remark from the librarian. Instead he gently chastened her, “Seems an awful lot of fuss for a little title.”

“Giles, it’s no fun if you don’t try your best.” She finally seemed to acknowledge Wynonna. “Tell me Cordelia wouldn’t be the worst homecoming queen ever, am I right?”

“Can’t say I give two shits about that sort of thing.” Wynonna replied. It was the first time in a long time that she agreed with an authority figure like Snyder. If the kids who hung out at the library were into all that school-spirit crap, they definitely wouldn’t have much in common.

“Buffy, this is Wynonna. She’s new. And strangely enough, she appears to have interests other than an infatuation with wearing a miniature tiara for an evening in front of people you will never talk to again in a year’s time.” Giles slammed a book down on the counter more than a little dramatically.

“I wouldn’t call chemistry an interest. More like a forced learning opportunity. Plus, it sounded better than P.E.” Wynonna sighed and pulled the thick blue and purple textbook towards her with dread.

“First period?” Wynonna gulped and nodded. Over a month of missed material? It was going to be a rough learning curve. But no one said starting over was easy. “No way! Me too. You can borrow my notes to get caught up, but I can’t promise they’re any good. We’d better get going otherwise we’ll be late.” Buffy went to fetch up her things. Great, Wynonna groaned internally. A perfect ray of sunshine homecoming queen wannabe. Just peachy.

“She has these fits on occasion.” Giles said to her conspiratorially. “But she gets over them quickly enough, don’t you fret. She’s quite tolerable most days.” Wynonna nodded and scooped the textbooks into her bag, and followed Buffy to her first class at Sunnydale High.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Wynonna dreaded the ‘teacher-introduces-new-student’ speech she would relive every period of the day. The first of these introductions was as awkward and uncomfortable as she expected. After roll call, the teacher called her to the front of the room where she stood on trial in front of dozens of native Sunnydale residents. A large majority of them had unnaturally blond hair and skin tanner than it had any right to be in October. She stood out like a sore thumb, with her deep chestnut hair and pale complexion more suited for northern winters than southern summers.

When the teacher started to announce the town from whence she hailed, he hesitated, glancing at her as if to ask for confirmation, before reading the town’s name aloud. Couldn’t he have just said Canada? She could sense the ripple spread through the crowd. Who would name a town Purgatory? How strange, they whispered. He then quickly moved on to ask if she had any family, pets, hobbies, or interests, to which she responded, “No.”

As the awkward dog and pony show ran its course, the teacher sighed in defeat and waved her to sit at the only empty desk in the room. Wynonna threw herself into her seat carelessly. She sat one seat behind Buffy and next to one of the only non-blond boys in the room. He sported a length of brown hair with close cropped sides and a worn leather jacket.

The minutes passed, and leather jacket kid wouldn’t stop staring at her. Perhaps he thought that as a fellow brunette in a sea of platinum that they were kindred spirits. Wynonna ground her teeth and debated how long she would wait before telling him to shove off. The teacher smiled as she settled in, pushing a lock of his own long blond hair behind his ear and rubbing the sides of his dark mustache.

“In my haste to introduce our new classmate, it appears I have forgotten my manners.” His eyes bored into Wynonna with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. “My name is Mr. Marshal Del Rey, Ms. Earp. Or Mars, for short.” His eyes lingered on her eerily and she squirmed in her seat. Everyone needed to stop staring or she would have to start charging.

Mr. Del Rey spun to the white board and began drawing chemical structures on the board. He started making remarks on something he called ‘Lewis Structures’, and Wynonna let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Was the whole day going to be this awkward? She bounced her pencil between her fingers to release the nervous energy. Leather jacket boy chuckled at her obvious discomfort, which did nothing to quell her agitation.

Time ticked by, and within the first 15 minutes she gave up taking notes. Jeffrey was right, she was behind and she couldn’t follow a thing. Leather jacket boy was clearly over class as well, and he subtly shifted his seat towards her, intent on striking up conversation. Wynonna scooched in the opposite direction, trying to make it obvious that she did not want to talk, but found she could go no further for she was already scraping the wall. Leather jacket boy shuffled closer and closer. He looked like a rebel who scoffed at rules and got his grooming tips from John Travolta in Grease.

He leaned over, and Wynonna evaluated the distance between them. Would a punch get her message across? As she debated the consequences of violently striking someone on her first day, he quietly asked, “Love your jacket. Do you ride?”

Wynonna immediately liked him.

His name was Dash, which was a fitting name for his looks. He turned out to be friendly and not at unpleasant, and she walked out of class with an invitation to some place called the Bronze with him and his friends on Friday. It was apparently the ‘only place to be’ in town. Literally. The nightlife was pretty limited. She also came out with those class notes Buffy promised her, but those took second fiddle to her Friday plans.

“You can’t be serious. You have loads of subjects to catch up on and you’re already planning a night at the Bronze? Your priorities are terrible.” Scoffed the resident straight-A asshole Jeffrey. Wynonna found herself disliking him more and more by the day. It was the end of the day, and she and Jeffrey stood on the curb waiting for Mrs. Bleeker to arrive.

“It’s not like it’s called Pussy Willows or anything.” Jeffrey frowned silently. His disdain was palpable. “Noooot that I know a place called that. Nope.” She said, popping her lips on the final syllable.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead at the Bronze. That’s where people who have no chance at scholarships go to waste their lives. Not that I blame them. I suppose I’d feel inclined to drink myself into a stupor if I didn’t have a shot at Stanford.”

“Look, I don’t know what your deal is. But I need somebody to talk to other than...” _You_. “…other than the school librarian.”

“Talking in a library? Of course you would. You seem like that kind of person.” Wynonna was moments away from slamming one of her new textbooks between those flapping jaws of his, but the sight of Mrs. Bleeker turning the corner put her anger in check.

“Besides, Mom wouldn’t allow it. She knows how critical it is you find stability here.” Wynonna inwardly cringed. She was so used to being her own authority on things, that she hadn’t even considered the possibility of someone telling her no. She clambered into the car, her brain running a hundred miles a minute. If she was dismissive of the Bleeker family, could she be kicked out? Returned to Purgatory? She shuddered. No, anything but that. She would have to play by the rules. Or at least give the impression that she did. And since she was newly acquainted with the school’s librarian, perhaps he could help.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

“Do you know somebody… smart?” Giles blinked at her, clearly confused.

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure I follow. If you mean literally, then yes. Dozens of people.”

“I’m looking for a tutor.” Wynonna sighed, trying to sound like a motivated student. “Someone who can help me catch up on the semester. It’s really daunting trying to tackle it by myself. You must know someone brainy, I mean, you are the librarian after all. You must know all the smartest students.”

“Surprisingly not many of Sunnydale’s brightest show their faces here. They much prefer their Starbucks and wi-fi hotspots.” He said with contempt, which spurred a tangent on the lack of virtuous study in the younger generation. He paused in his muttering as he was suddenly struck with a thought. “But I may know someone who could help you.” He pointed at a girl typing fastidiously on a laptop at the table in the center of the room. Wynonna recognized her as one of the students listening to Buffy’s homecoming tirade.

“Come, I’ll introduce you.” Unsurprisingly, the introduction was awkward. Willow was very bookish, something Wynonna simply couldn’t relate to. But Willow more than fit the bill in the smarts department. Just what the doctor ordered. As Giles walked away Wynonna began to fabricate her request.

“You want me to cover for you.” Willow said bluntly before Wynonna could breathe a single word. “It’s okay. You’re not the first person to ask me for an alibi.”

“So you’ll help me out then?” Wynonna almost fist-pumped the air when Willow nodded affirmatively. Friday night, watch out. Wynonna Earp was going to have a night on the town.

“If you actually need a study buddy sometime, you can join my friend Buffy and me. I tutor her a lot in… well, all her subjects. You’re the new girl in her chemistry class, right? That’s why I offered, since you two already met and stuff.”

“Yeah, we have class with Mr. Del Rey.” Wynonna nodded. “You know, if you can tutor everything, I really could use a crash course in… well, everything. And sometime soon, but not now-soon. This weekend I want to meet some people, you know? Make friends around here. How is the Bronze?”

“It can be fun!” Willow said. Wynonna didn’t miss the flicker across her face.

Wynonna’s heartrate shot up, and she felt the same anxious gnawing in the pit of her stomach. First the librarian yesterday, then this girl today. _They’re hiding something,_ she thought. No, Wynonna knew they were hiding something from her! Something shifty was going on!

Wynonna realized she wasn’t breathing. _Simmer down_ , she told herself in an attempt to relax. _It’s the meds or lack thereof._ It had to be. Here she was projecting again. Willow sensed her discomfort.

“It’s the only club worth going to around here. They let anybody in, even us under 21 folks, but it’s in the bad part of town. I wouldn’t recommend wandering the back alleys, but if you stay in the lit parts, you’ll be fine!”

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Mrs. Bleeker took the bait hook, line, and sinker. She hesitated at first, but then Jeffrey piped up and endorsed Willow as one of the smartest people at school, for once proving he could sometimes be helpful and not a just an ass. Apparently he and Willow were enrolled in advanced, independent studies courses with several Sunnydale High faculty members. Luckily the two were in different year groups, which meant they weren’t competing for the same scholarships. If that weren’t the case, Wynonna imagined his attitude towards Willow would be far less reverent. Either way, it was thanks to Jeffrey that she stood in line at the entrance to the Bronze for her ‘study date’.

The bouncer pocketed her cover fee with very un-Purgatory, manicured hands and waved her through the doors. Throbbing music from a local rock band engulfed throngs of young people dancing under ruby red lights wearing fashionable nightclub attire. The band must have been a local favorite, because the club was jam packed from the bar to the dance floor. Even the balcony high overhead was crowded and swarmed with youthful activity. The Bronze was a far cry from the seedy dive bars in Purgatory. Here, nobody looked a day over thirty, whereas in Purgatory, the age disparity between the male and female clientele was remarkably stark.

It took some searching, but she spied a gaggle of men on the far side of the bar wearing familiar leather jackets. Dash caught her searching eyes and waved her over excitedly to begin introducing her to his companions. There was Dylan with the tastefully shaped beard, Colleen with the nose ring and smoky eyeshadow, Jared with the serpent tattoos, and Skylar whose most important character attribute was that he was over 21. Skylar had a certain charm about him which he used often and liberally. After a few jokes and a dazzling smile, he coerced the bartenders into serving him multiple drinks at a time with no questions asked. The group was drunk and hollering to the music on the dance floor in no time.

Alcohol thrummed in Wynonna’s veins and her heart thumped to the heavy bass beat. This was living! She swirled in a haze, bouncing between strangers who were now her closest friends in their drunken revelry. Dash and Colleen left no room for Jesus in their dancing, while Dylan and Jared escaped to one of the ratty couches and peppered each other with sloppy, inebriated kisses.

Wynonna and Skylar pressed flush against each other in the writhing crowd. Maybe it was because he bought her drinks all night. Maybe it was because he didn’t have a ridiculous tan like the other residents of Sunnydale. Maybe it was because he leaned in close and called her delicious. But when he offered to take her out ‘somewhere else fun’, the idea of saying no never even crossed her mind.

Disoriented and unbalanced from drink, Wynonna staggered after Skylar in a happy delirium. He grabbed her hand and guided her through the maze of city streets. The flush from her beer jacket was unbearably warm, and she relished the feel of his hand on hers. His skin was delightfully cool and refreshing. She laughed aloud and he asked her what was so funny. In response, she swayed her hips suggestively and sidled in front of him, egging him on. This was not Wynonna’s first rodeo. She knew what she wanted. She knew what he wanted. The conclusion was inevitable. And she was so hot! It would feel amazing to have his cool skin pinned beneath her.

The sidewalk quickly gave way to an uneven dirt path. Dark trees loomed overhead like dark, silent watchmen. They came to a low stone wall and Skyler hopped over it with casual irreverence. Wynonna blinked her bleary eyes and squinted past him into the dark.

“Dude, this is a graveyard…  I didn’t peg you as a morbid, kinky type.”

“Does that bother you?” He asked, holding out his hand to help her over the wall. She grinned mischievously and accepted the helping hand. She staggered over the wall and stood a hairsbreadth away from him.

“Actually, I’m kind of super into it.” She whispered huskily.

They attacked each other. Skylar kissed her ferociously and she returned the favor in kind. She lost track of her hands in his hair, but never lost track of his as they danced across her body. Hard stone pressed against her back, and what remained of her situational awareness told her she was backed against a particularly tall and ornate tombstone. Tobias M. Burke had been a Catholic missionary and father of six in the early 19th century. If it weren’t for the lack of muscle on his brittle bones, this act of debauchery would surely have him rolling in his grave. But Burke’s bones sensed danger. They cried out, “Flee, flee!” But the dead priest’s warning fell on deaf ears.

Wynonna’s eyes rolled back in her head while Skylar’s lips traced along the edge of her jaw. This was the best study date she’d ever been on. She made a mental note to study more often. In the midst of their passionate tussle, the collar of her jacket popped at an awkward angle. She felt Skylar’s fingers tug at the edges in an attempt to move the material. Eager for him to trail kisses down her neck, she shrugged the jacket off her shoulders. For a moment it was incredible. Then it was painful. Excruciating. Like being stabbed with an iron hot barbeque fork.

Lucky for our protagonist, no matter how far she ran to escape her birthright, the fighting spirit of her great-great-grandfather would follow her to the ends of the Earth.

The burning pain in her neck brought the world into terrible clarity and she lashed out with all her might. Wynonna slammed her kneecap into his nether regions and in quick succession brought the heel of her biker boot down atop his toes with a sharp crack. He howled in pain, unaccustomed to prey that fought back with such ferocity. She pushed away from him and fell tumbling to the ground. He collapsed forward, one hand clutching his groin and the other outstretched and grasping for support. His hand landed on the headstone of Tobias M. Burke and the priest struck back from beyond the grave. In true religious fashion, Burke’s headstone was covered in numerous etchings of Christian crosses from top to bottom.

Was she drunk hallucinating, or did that man’s hand sizzle with smoke? Seconds later, her question was answered when the grisly odor of charred flesh reached her nose. Wynonna brought her hand to her neck and trembled at the wetness leaking from two deep punctures that were not there moments ago. She trembled as she pulled back and saw the blood coating her hand. Beyond her fingers the handsome, pale man she had been enamored with moments ago transformed into a hideous beast. His ghastly face was wrinkled and monstrous, and he leered at her with sunken, yellow eyes. He knelt, doubled over in agony, but he growled with an unearthly tenor. She knew she hadn’t inflicted any lasting damage…

…because her demons had a nasty habit of being indestructible.

She scrabbled backwards and lurched to her feet. A frantic panic gnawed at her bowels and gave her the strength to run. It didn’t matter where she ran so long as it was away from here.

“I thought you were super into it?” The demon yelled after her. Wynonna’s terror mounted and she doubled her efforts. She chastised herself for taking chemistry instead of that P.E. class. Blackness started to eat away at the edge of her vision. The combination of drunkenness, blood loss, and fear did her no favors.

Wynonna came across a tree and leapt, pulling herself up onto one of the lower branches with visions of her sister and father screaming as they were pulled to their deaths. She leapt again, pulling herself higher and higher until vertigo stopped her from climbing any further. She looked back and saw the demon stalking towards the tree with a limp, snarling with an insatiable hunger.

“Yo, this spot is taken.”

Wynonna screamed in surprise and almost fell out of the tree to her death, but the stranger caught her and held her in place with a casual strength. Wynonna did not struggle against this tree dweller for fear of what waited for her on the ground.

This tree dweller was a girl who appeared to be around the same age. She was dressed from head to toe in tight, black and burgundy clothes with lipstick and eyeshadow to match. Once Wynonna sufficiently recovered her balance, the girl ran her fingers through her brunette hair, and plucked a small leaf out with a yawn. Why was a sexy, alternative chick taking a nap in the branches of a tree in the middle of a graveyard on a Friday night? Is this how the attractive homeless of Sunnydale lived? Wynonna couldn’t formulate an answer.

The demon reached the tree and scrabbled at the base, struggling to find purchase with his injured foot. The tree girl took notice him with a detached indifference. She tugged at something tucked into her belt and rolled carelessly onto her side like a Grecian empress awaiting grapes from her harem of man-servants. That something happened to be a long piece of sharpened wood. She steadied it in front of her like a professional dart player at a bar.

“Oh him? Don’t you worry, doll. Watch this.” She threw the sharp stake with an overhanded pitch, and it plunged into the demon’s chest with terrific accuracy. He tumbled backwards with an agonized gargle while flailing uselessly at the air. Upon contact with the ground he burst into a cloud of dust, where his unearthly remains scattered like rain around the roots of the tree. Tree girl cracked her knuckles and swung to face Wynonna, suddenly interested in the newcomer who stumbled upon her favorite napping spot.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Vamps are fucking assholes. Looks like he gave you a real run for your money, huh? Good thing you ran into me.” Wynonna stared at her. For once in her life, she was absolutely speechless. It was not a feeling she was accustomed to. Tree girl scooched closer and inspected her closely. She languidly reached out to tuck Wynonna’s hair behind one ear.

“Oh shit, he got you…” She said, gently running her hands around the wound. The tree girl brought Wynonna’s bloody hand and pressed it firmly against the marks. “You’re still bleeding, apply as much pressure as you can.”

“…I’m cursed.” Wynonna croaked. Her body shook with tremors. Was it normal to feel attracted to homeless tree dwellers after a narrow escape from death? It was too much for her to handle right now.

“Nah, you didn’t drink any of his blood. You’ll be fine.”

“Are they following me?”

“I mean they follow anyone with a pulse, so yeah. Probably.”

“No… no, I’ve never seen one like that before. They’re not supposed to be able to leave the triangle! Is it because I left? Are they free?” Wynonna’s voice rose as her throat constricted. The familiar sea of panic rose within her and she started to drown in it. What she would give right now for the whole bottle of Zyprexa she flushed away last week. “They sent me away. But you saw it. You were here and you killed it! How did you kill it? I couldn’t…”

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted. For the second time, Faith caught Wynonna and stopped her from falling out of the tree and breaking her neck. She looked at the comatose girl skeptically. She sounded totally off her rocker. But then again, life or death situations sometimes did that to a person. Plus she appeared to have lost a lot of blood. It was miraculous that she was able to climb into the tree in her condition.

Faith slung her over shoulder with a grunt and began her descent. Upon reaching the ground, she propped her unconscious charge against the trunk and plucked her stake out of the dirt. She dusted it off lovingly. This stake was hand carved from a pool cue that won her a fair amount of money back in the day. When its pool game days were over, Faith couldn’t find it within her to let it go.

She tucked the stake back into her belt and looked thoughtfully at the unconscious Earp. Faith felt a bit guilty at the thought of leaving her there. The attractive and bleeding girl would be an easy snack for the next vampire to come wandering through. But what to do? She didn’t want to play bodyguard all night. And she said some weird things. Something about a curse and triangles? Maybe she was loopy from the blood loss, but Faith had spent enough time in Sunnydale by now to know that an offhanded remark from a stranger could be a cog in the machine of a much larger plot. She made a decision and pulled out her cellphone. After a few rings, a sleepy voice answered.

“Hey Giles, you up?”

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Willa’s specter stood on the staircase dressed in ghostly whites and pointed at Wynonna accusingly. “It’s not my fault.” Wynonna whispered, standing in a pile of bones. Her birthright brought nothing pain and misfortune. Maybe she would never escape it. It appeared nothing would stop the cycle. Not running across the continent. Not relinquishing her past. Nothing but death.

The staircase shimmered and turned to black, and suddenly she was alone. Two murmuring voices cut through the silence, and she realized the blackness was the inside of her eyelids. A heavy compress pressed snugly against her throat. A giant knitted blanket swathed her from shoulder to toe. Where was she?

“Triangles you say?” She heard a familiar voice ask. “How curious. Whatever could that mean?”

“I dunno, Giles. Do I look like a geometry expert?”

The librarian? She must still be dreaming. Wynonna cracked open her eyelids, fighting against the horrible pounding in her temples. She was in a cozy living room with walls painted a muted green. A small coffee table to her right had a steaming mug of something hot, which she assumed was for her. She reached over and weakly brought it to her lips only to spit out its contents in an angry sputter. Tea? Of course it was tea. What else would a British librarian drink? It tasted like hippy hemorrhoid cream. Her younger sister Waverly would have described the taste as soothing sunshine. Her sputtering drew the attention of the librarian and the tree girl. The latter had discarded her jacket and stood, arms crossed, in a very revealing and low-cut tank top. Her pores exuded confidence, and Wynonna couldn’t take her eyes off her.

“What’s going on?” Wynonna asked suspiciously, unsure if she could trust either of them. Principal Snyder’s warning echoed in her thoughts. _…keep your distance from the students that congregate at the library on the daily…_ This librarian must be dangerous. Mr. Giles drew up a chair and pulled up next to her. Tree girl remained standing a few feet behind him and refused to uncross her arms. He plucked the spectacles off his face and polished them slowly on the edge of his sweater.

“It appears you have been introduced to the dark side of Sunnydale rather quickly, Wynonna. I’m sorry you’ve had such a wretched experience. But tonight you were beset upon by a creature of darkness. A vampire, to be precise. You’re quite fortunate you ran into Faith tonight, else you may not have escaped.” Wynonna laughed. It was an anxious laugh, fed by nerves, trauma, and self-loathing.

“Vampires? You’re shitting me. This is a test, right? You’re probably from the Institute. You want to see if I’m still crazy. See if I’ll crack and start telling you I believe in demons? Well I’m not crazy, so suck it.” She was met by silence. Mr. Giles finished polishing his glasses and returned them to his face. He laced his fingers together and looked at her quietly. The seconds ticked by without comment. The reality started to sink in.

“God, you’re serious aren’t you? What, are there witches and werewolves here too?”

“Yeah, but they’re on our side. Mostly.” Faith added.

“Fuck me. It’s demons all the way down.” Wynonna fell back against the pillow and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “This was too good to be true. There must be revenants here too. They’ll kill me.”

“You mean like Leonardo DiCaprio?” Faith puzzled. “I liked that movie. Kinda long though.”

“Faith mentioned you believe you’ve been cursed. Does that have something to do with these revenants? We might be able to help you.” He moved to place his hand atop Wynonna’s, but she snatched it back quickly.

“We? Who’s we? You and Ms. Amazon here?” Faith flipped her hair, obviously flattered.

“I know it may seem rather unbelievable, but Sunnydale is a center of mystical convergence. Darkness tends to gather here in droves, and some of us are called upon to stand against it. Myself, Faith, and a handful of others have been fighting to protect what is good here.” Wynonna studied the lines in his face, looking for any hint of a lie. She found nothing but sincerity. “If you are indeed under a curse of some sort, I believe it’s no coincidence you’ve been drawn here. Let us help you.” He concluded earnestly.

“You can’t.” Wynonna said, feeling rather small. Giles took the tea from her and returned it to the table.

“You would be surprised.” He said softly. “Let’s continue this conversation later, when we’ve all had a bit more sleep. Let’s get you cleaned up and take you home.”

“No!” Wynonna blurted out. She felt her face flushing as she admitted to her web of lies. “Remember when I asked you about a tutor? Well, I’m supposed to be staying the night at Willow’s. For a study date.” She admitted sheepishly.

“Why does that sound familiar?” Giles chuckled to himself.

“You can stay with me for the night.” Faith offered. “My bed’s probably a lot more comfortable than that couch. And I have coffee, not tea.”

“I do hate tea.”

“You Americans…” Giles muttered. “No taste.” He helped Wynonna stand up and pointed to her jacket by the door. “If you wait just a moment, I’ll find my keys and drive you both. You’re in no shape to be walking long distances tonight.”

“You can say that again.” Wynonna said, fingering the compress on her neck. The marks beneath the gauze ached under the slightest pressure. How was she going to hide that in the morning? It wasn’t even remotely scarf weather. The two women piled into Giles’s 1963 Citroën DS, an old grey clunker that had been on its last legs for the past two decades. She was a tough old broad. After a somewhat perilous drive almost as stressful as the events earlier in the evening, Giles let them out at the Sunnydale Motor Inn. He waved them farewell and drove away, cursing his trusty steed with colourful British vernacular.

Wynonna was exhausted, edgy, and still not entirely sober. She took in her surroundings while Faith fiddled with her keys. The motel was the definition of a rat trap. The building squatted next to a noisy highway, its gaudy pink and blue neon sign advertising vacancies to anyone who could scrounge together a couple pennies. The wind picked up and sent crumpled receipts, an empty bag of Fritos, and two crumpled beer cans skittering across the deserted parking lot. This was certainly not where Wynonna envisioned spending her night out on the town, but she also wasn’t terribly surprised at the outcome. Up to this point her life was a disaster. Moving to Sunnydale hadn’t changed that. Same shit, different day.

“So, you live here?” Wynonna asked while Faith cursed, jiggling the lock vigorously.

“Yup, only eighteen dollars a day! It’s a total steal. There’s some super sketch clientele, but everybody knows better than to mess with me. If they don’t then they learn fast.”

Faith’s room was lackluster. The white walls were brittle and flaked with age, the carpet was gaudy and stained from tenants past, and a rather large spot on the ceiling showed signs of water damage. Her host knelt by a mini fridge and snagged two cans of cheap beer, tossing one to her guest.

“You look like you could use a drink.” She said, cracking open the other for herself. “Plus, you need to keep your fluids up what with the… you know.” She said, gesticulating at her neck. “Loss of fluids.”

“Thanks.” Wynonna said as she kicked off her boots. “For this, and everything before. You totally saved my life tonight.”

“Aw shucks, no problem, Wy. Vampire slayage is kinda my thing.” Wynonna grinned at the nickname. It reminded her of Waverly.

“How does one find themselves in the ‘vampire slayage’ business?” Wynonna asked as she plopped down on the bed. It creaked loudly under their combined weight. “I can’t imagine you walked out of Hobby Lobby one day with a pair of knitting needles and decided to go ham.”

“I love dusting vamps, don’t get me wrong. But I definitely didn’t choose it. This job chose me.” She said as she slurped her beer. “In every destination, a chick gets summoned to go head-to-head against vampires and other baddies until she dies. Then another one replaces her, and around and around it goes. For all eternity.”

Wynonna laughed bitterly, her mouth suddenly dry and empty. Faith’s situation sounded suspiciously familiar. She gulped at the shitty beer and made an impulsive decision to lay it all out there. “I’m descended from an old gunslinger who got mixed up with demon magic. The outlaws he killed resurrect as immortal monsters hell-bent on exterminating whoever the current heir is. When my father and sister died, the curse fell to me. And if I don’t kill them all, or I die, they all resurrect and go after the next one.”

After a moment of thoughtful silence Faith replied, “That sucks.”

“Totally.”

“Does yours come with any loopholes?” Wynonna looked puzzled so Faith elaborated. “Here’s the thing. There’s only supposed to be one Slayer at any time. Ask Giles for the dirty details, but me and Buff got slapped with dual Slayer duty. There’s two of us. Maybe there’s a way for you to work out an edge, you know? Even the odds.”

“Hold on, you and Buf? Short for Buffy?”

“You know her? I can’t imagine there’s more than one Buffy here in Sunnydale, so yeah. It’s probably the same one.”

“Weird, she’s in my chemistry class.” She peered over her beer at Faith trying to see if she was pulling her leg. “You’re telling me that that Buffy, the Malibu Barbie lookalike, runs around graveyards stabbing vampires in the middle of the night?”

“She’s covering Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday patrols the next few weeks while I work Monday, Wednesday, Friday.” Faith laughed as Wynonna’s eyes bulged out of her head. “Don’t let her looks fool you! Blondie is a bona fide Slayer like me. Well not just like me. I’m way cooler.” She said with a sultry wink.

“I’ll say. She seems way obsessed with stupid Homecoming. Definitely not my scene.”

“Yeah, Buffy’s way into that kind of stuff. She definitely needs to loosen up. I told her we should get tickets and go together. You know, I could show her how to let her hair down and have a little fun once in a while. But she wouldn’t have any of it.”

“Well Principal Fuckface told me point blank to go so I can be inoculated with school spirit.” She said school spirit with sarcastic air quotes. “My new brown-nosing foster brother is on the planning committee, so if I don’t show up he’ll find out in less than twenty-four hours. Several hours of listening to top 40 pop music is probably less painful than a week of detention.”

Faith rolled on her side and tugged open the little drawer on her nightstand. “These could make it even more bearable.” She said, flashing two silver hip flasks proudly. Their faces split into shit-eating grins, each sensing they had found a kindred spirit.

.o0o. CHAPTER 1 END .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BtVS S3 Episode References: "Homecoming"


	2. Miss You, Baby Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Purgatory, Gus and Curtis have a disagreement, and young Waverly Earp confronts a terrible fear: that Wynonna is getting along just fine without her.

It was a cloudy, October afternoon in Purgatory, Canada. The weather was being particularly fickle. First it drizzled, then it stopped. Moments later, it poured without warning. And after a few minutes of that, the downpour reverted to a fine mist. The bus driver was the kind of person who refused to commit to a windshield wiper speed. He manually pressed the lever a couple of times, grumbled at the foulness of the weather, then opted for a medium-speed swipe. The medium-speed didn't satisfy him for long, and he adjusted to a higher speed. After settling on this new rhythm for a minute or so, the rain slowed down just to spite him. This brought much outrage and he once more alternated between manual swiping and frustrated expletives. His outrageous cursing excited the middle school students sitting nearest the front, as they were always eager to add to their vocabularies outside the classroom.

But for all his cursing and inability to select a wiper speed, he always executed his duties to the best of his bus-driving abilities. When he opened the door for his next drop-off, he made sure to let little Waverly Earp get off the bus at the driest patch of road he could find. The small girl danced off the bus in her pink galoshes and sprinted up the driveway. Gus McCready watched her exit the bus from the porch awning, and ushered the girl out of the rain, waving goodbye to the bus-driver as he puttered off to the next stop on his rural route.

“Hi, Aunt Gus.” Waverly chirruped cheerfully as Gus pressed a chaste kiss against her damp hair.

“Hey, pumpkin.” Gus fussed over her immediately, tugging her damp rain coat off and carrying it to the mudroom. “How was school? Did you pass your French test?”

“Did the French ban the cultivation and consumption of potatoes for almost a quarter of a century?” Waverly’s reference was met with a blank stare. She sighed as though the answer should have been obvious. “Yes, Gus. Yes to both. The French were afraid that potatoes caused leprosy, isn’t that crazy? And the test? Très facile.”

“Well, that is certainly fascinating. I do hope those French were wrong, because I’ve got some boiling for a mash as we speak.”

“As do I!” Came a gruff voice from the living room. “Although even if they did, I’d probably eat them all the same. Man’s gotta eat.”

“I think we’re safe, Uncle Curtis.” Said Waverly, wringing out her hair in the sink before joining him in the living room. Curtis was a short, broad-shouldered man with a weathered face. He sat in his favorite recliner, penciling in his daily crossword while he rested his aching feet from a long morning spent mucking stalls. Curtis McCready was an incredibly sturdy man, but not even he could resist the chill of the persistent rain. After several hours it had eaten into his bones and drove him to seek refuge indoors.

Waverly plopped down on the ottoman next to him. “Sooo, it’s Friday.” She said, trying to sound indifferent.

“Indeed it is.” He replied, not looking up from his current clue. Something that started with ‘u’ and ended with ‘e’…

“Can I use your computer before dinner?”

“Well, do you have any homework first?”

“But Uncle Curtis, it’s Friday! And the only homework I have this weekend needs a computer. I just want to-”

“Go on.” Curtis replied gently, waving her upstairs with a smirk. “Be down for dinner when Gus calls you.” He told her, but she was already halfway up the stairs. Gus leaned against the doorway and glared disapprovingly at her husband. He slipped his paper down to his nose and peered at her over the edge. Her glare only hardened. Curtis sighed and plopped his paper down on the side table. “I know what you’re gonna say, honey.” He grunted.

“That I don’t approve?” The woman said, not bothering to mask her frustration.

“I presume that would be putting it lightly.” Curtis fiddled with his mechanical pencil, clicking the lead back and forth absent-mindedly.

“Curtis, that sister of hers will ruin her.”

“Now honey, that’s a tad dramatic.”

“She needs to move on… Become her own person! I don’t want to see her living in this shadow her whole life. We agreed the separation would do them good. It defeats the purpose if they’re still talking every damn day.”

“Hey now.” He said, setting the pencil down and giving his wife his full attention. “Let her have this.”

“That girl’s had her heart broken enough.” Gus huffed, furiously polishing a glass.

“We will always be there for our Waverly. We’re her family now, but she’s got her sister’s blood. She’ll grow to resent us if we try’an keep them apart.” Curtis’s placating tone had almost the opposite effect on his wife.

“Bullshit, Curtis. Waverly needs distance. Physically and emotionally. That girl’s a bad influence, and a dangerous loose cannon.” The glass squeaked angrily in Gus’s hands. “We promised to protect her. What was that oath of yours in the service? _Against all enemies, foreign and domestic_? Seems you need reminding.”

“I have not forgotten, nor will I ever.” Curtis replied sharply. “We will protect her. But make no mistake, she ain’t safe. She won’t ever be _safe_. For all Wynonna’s faults, she is no danger to Waverly. That girl is too stubborn to admit it, and maybe she don’t know it herself yet, but I’d bet my life Wynonna would give her life for Waverly’s. Jus’ like you or me.”

“It’s different with us. We have things…”

“-things that can help jus’ as soon hurt.” Curtis interjected. “It’s all a double edged sword. You know that better than anyone, don’ kid yerself.”

The silence stretched tight over the tension in the room. Finally Gus’s shoulders sagged from their rigid posture. “Say what you will, but I don’t think it wise to encourage it.”

Curtis accepted this last comment without retort and opted instead to grunt in disagreement. The man remained unswayed. Gus returned to the dishes, and Curtis returned to his word puzzle. He licked the tip of his pencil and scratched another letter into a little, white square.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

> Waverly,
> 
> Have you convinced Gus and Curtis to get you a cellphone yet? This emailing thing feels so old school. Something like Skype, FaceTime, or literally any one of the million messenger apps out there would make talking to you so much easier. It took me ages to write this, so be grateful I love you so much. Although I admit writing was the perfect excuse to escape to my room last night, because Mr. and Mrs. Bleeker got really weird.
> 
> I got home from school and they were on the couch dressed in… beach clothes? They looked like a couple of kids running around a boardwalk in LA. Like in the movies, you know? (Southern Californians actually dress like that on the daily. I never thought dressing in black, blue, and grey would make me stand out like a sore thumb. At least I have red going for me.) And get this, they were totally high out of their minds!
> 
> They were sitting on the couch giggling like weirdos, and eating chocolate bars like they were going out of style. They wouldn’t stop going on about how ‘hella good’ the chocolate was and practically shoved it in my face. Don’t get me wrong I love me some chocolate, but it wasn’t anything special. I think Jeffrey was fundraising for the band and gave it to them to sell at the office? Clearly none of those chocolates made it out of the house, may their sugary remains rest in peace.
> 
> This morning they looked super hungover. I could tell because I’ve definitely been there, but I couldn’t get either of them to admit to it. I’m all for people having a good time but it was really out of character for them! Last week they were on a health kick doing this thing called a ‘Whole30’ and drinking juice that was so green I swear it glowed in the dark and could give you superpowers. Between that, going to fitness clubs, and charity meetups, I can definitively say they’re usually pretty lame.
> 
> They’re treating me well. Really well, Waves! Except for Jeffrey, but he’s a total prick. He’s oblivious to social cues and doesn’t even notice my intense disgust for him. It’s probably better that way. And his stupid hair, don’t get me started on that mess! It’s like he doesn’t know what a comb is. Jeffrey aside, this whole move has been working out really well for me. It’s like all the horrible stuff that happened, all the things I’ve done, doesn’t even matter to them.
> 
> I don’t have any dirt-bag probation officers making my life miserable, nobody’s filled my locker with animal guts, and the kids here don’t run away from me like I have leprosy. I even have a few friends here now! Would you believe I met them in the library? You should be extra proud of me for even stepping foot in a library.
> 
> There’s this girl, Buffy, in my chemistry class who’s possibly just as miserable as I am at school. We’ve banded together to try and make it through in once piece. If it weren’t for Willow tutoring us we’d already be failing! Willow is stupid smart and has a ton of tricks up her sleeves. I don’t know how she got so smart! She makes balancing chemical equations look like witchcraft. Willow’s dating this guy Oz who plays in a band at a club called the Bronze. Check out “Dingoes Ate My Baby” on YouTube. I know there’s a couple clips of him playing! He’s the short ginger who plays lead guitar.
> 
> I’m also friends with a guy named Xander, and less so his girlfriend Cordelia. He’s a fun guy to hang out with but Cordelia? She’s definitely not my cup of tea. She tries to take charge of everything and we’ve already butted heads a lot. Thank goodness for Mr. Giles, the librarian. On numerous occasions he’s talked me down from cussing her out and given me some excellent food for thought. (Yes you read that right Waves, I’m accepting advice from a librarian! Who would have thought?)
> 
> Then there’s Faith. She doesn’t go to school here, but she’s friends with the others and she’s a lot of fun to hang out with. Faith is super fit and she’s been showing me some new exercises and I feel stronger already. I tolerate working out with her because she loves pizza and donuts almost more than I do. Xander likes those things too, minus the working out part.
> 
> For all the good things, living in Sunnydale isn’t all sunshine and roses. There are hard days. There are nights where I feel like… the life is getting drained out of me. And it’s those times when all I can think about is how much I miss you. That’s one thing Sunnydale will never have, the one thing it could never substitute. You’re my sister, my only real family. Don’t think for a second that I will ever forget that. I’m working hard to get it together, Waves. And when I do, don’t think for a minute I won’t come back for you. We’ll make it big together. Get a chrome condo anywhere on this big blue Earth but Purgatory, and we can finally leave that life behind us.
> 
> Sorry… it’s late and I’m getting all sappy on you. Please say hi to Gus and Curtis for me, or maybe just Curtis. I know Gus hates my guts. Either way give at least one of them my best. Tell them I’m getting better and doing alright.
> 
> Miss you, baby girl. Talk to you soon.
> 
> Wynonna

Clenched hands, unclenched hands. Crossed arms, arms on the desk. Feet swinging back and forth, feet locked together and completely still. How could her insides ache, but simultaneously feel numb from tip to toe? Waverly read and reread the email, afraid of missing the tiniest detail. She imagined Wynonna with different facial expressions on each read through. Were things really going well as she said, or was she putting on a brave front for her little sister? It was impossible to tell. She had only left Purgatory months ago, but it felt like a lifetime.

A compassionate hand landed on her shoulder, and a sob bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. Curtis’s gentle touch brought forth the tears she had been desperately trying to contain. The little girl felt very alone in this world. Her family was either dead or willingly left her behind. She feared her sister was gone for good like all the rest.

“I-uh I m-miss her, Curtis.” Waverly gulped between sobs. She wanted to curl up into a small, silent ball on her bed and never get up. She wanted to run away screaming at the top of her lungs and never turn back. She wanted to find a way to stop the people in her life from leaving.

“I know honey.” He said, turning to meet Gus’s eyes as she stood shaking her head in the hall. “I know.”

.o0o. END CHAPTER 2 .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sunnydale gang may be a whole country away, but they have no idea just how much their actions will influence that little Canadian town of Purgatory! Also, when Gus mentioned those "things" that Curtis didn't want to talk about? Seemed rather suspicious to me. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see...
> 
> A bit of a shorter chapter this time, but all important groundwork for the events to come!
> 
> BtVS S3 Episode References: "Band Candy"


	3. Munchies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynonna schmoozes her way into patrolling with the gang for a night, and bites off more than she bargained for. Everybody's hungry for something this time around, be it pizza, a passing grade, sex, or... leather jackets?

The letter C stands for many things. It stands for ‘chief’ in CEO, ‘California’ in CSU, and ‘care’ in IDFC. In the realm of thermochemistry, the letter C is commonly used to represent a reaction agent in an endothermic or exothermic reaction. Perhaps our protagonists would have known this if they studied a little harder.

“Maybe C stands for congratulations?” Wynonna groaned at Buffy’s suggestion. Today was Monday, and it was living up to all the terrible expectations one has for Mondays. For one, Sunnydale currently wasn’t sunny. Unseasonable rain poured down in sheets and wrecked mayhem on the spoiled drivers of Southern California. Experienced drivers with 20 plus years of experience suddenly found themselves incapable of stopping at stop signs, careening off the side of the road, or skidding wide after taking a turn too quick and side swiping an oncoming vehicle or four. Most busses, and more than a few teachers, arrived late to school. Rumor had it that Principal Snyder dented his car so badly he was forced to wriggle his way out through his sun roof.

Because the drive to school was not made miserable enough by the weather alone, Wynonna had been forced to hold dozens of small jars filled with a smelly, orange liquid on her lap. Feeling poetically inspired by the moment, Wynonna described the odor as “Jarfuls of beaver piss.” Jeffrey defended his ‘independent study’ project with fierce pride, claiming the properties of this compound he was developing would someday serve as the basis for an incredible pHD thesis defense. Wynonna suggested he pursue something that looked a little less like radioactive Sunny D.

And because Monday was only just beginning its reign of misfortune, both Wynonna and Buffy scored low C‘s on their chemistry test. While not the end of the world, both students were riding a disappointing D grade average, and a C- wasn’t going to pull that higher anytime soon. Buffy scrunched up her face as she flipped through the pages. She turned around and asked, “What did you get for number…” but Wynonna snatched her test to her chest before Buffy could cross-reference the answer. The brunette stuffed the papers into her bag, grateful that the period bell had come to her rescue. She made a show of not wanting to be late and tried to slip away but found her path blocked.

“Ladies,” Mr. Del Rey said with a low, smooth tone, “a word, if you will.” He crooked his finger and beckoned them both to his desk. Wynonna’s face dropped as he gestured towards the crumpled pages sticking out of her unzipped backpack. He collected both their exams and laid them flat on his desk, tapping on the circled grades on each. A bright, red number 71 hung mockingly in the top right corners of both tests.

“Collaboration is a wonderful, valuable tool in both personal and academic circles. But this school operates under an honor policy, and I would appreciate it if in the future you both focused your collaboration efforts while preparing for the test. Not during the test.”

“Did you cheat off my test?” Buffy whispered at Wynonna in disbelief. The offender mouthed “sorry” in apology and lifted her hands sheepishly.

“Now, I didn’t see anything. But it seems highly probable that one or both of you participated in this… collaborative effort. I expect it will not happen again. Have I made myself clear?” When they nodded furiously enough to convince him of the genuineness of their repentance, he waved Buffy on to her next class but bid Wynonna stay a moment more. Buffy left in a huff and shot a glare over her shoulder. Wynonna did not meet her gaze, choosing instead to find a sudden and all-consuming interest in the pens on Mr. Del Rey’s desk. The teacher laced his fingers together in front of his face and waved at her to take a seat. She opted to lean against the desk instead.

“You know, Ms. Earp…”

“Wynonna.” She interrupted. “I prefer Wynonna.” He grinned his too white smile and seemed unperturbed.

“Alright then, Wynonna. You know, your brother Jeffrey is taking an independent study with me. Have you thought about asking him to tutor you? He’s doing some incredible work. I believe he could help you succeed in this class. He could be a valuable resource if you used him instead of Buffy.”

Wynonna’s shoulders tensed at the thought. As if she would ever stoop to asking that twerp for help! _The way you’re going, you’re going to fail this class without him,_ said the annoying voice of reason in the back of her mind. The voice was right. It was a mistake to cheat, and a bigger mistake to cheat off of Buffy. Clearly the tutoring sessions she had with Willow were not paying off. A buzzing came from Mr. Del Rey’s pocket and he plucked out a ringing cellphone. Whomever called him instantly had his undivided attention and he waved her off.

“Think about it!” He called after her as she sped out the door. Wynonna’s feet went on autopilot, guiding her to the now familiar double doors of the library for her free period. Buffy was already there chatting with Giles, along with Xander, Willow, and Oz. As usual they were pouring over volumes of old texts that hadn’t seen the light of day in years. Most hadn’t for good reason.

Not one for confronting problems head on, Wynonna jammed her hands deep into the front pockets of her jeans and tried casually whistling. As she walked closer Buffy rolled her eyes and placed a hand on Wynonna’s upper arm. She grinned awkwardly.

“My bad.”

“I’ll say. Next time, cheat off someone who knows the answers. Then share them with me.”

“You’re not mad then?” The blonde laughed. Getting upset about a friend cheating off your chemistry test was a waste of energy, she said. Wynonna grinned and replied, “If we’re cool, I can still come on patrol tonight. Right?” Almost immediately Buffy’s smile disappeared.

“Come on patrol? Where did you get that idea?” Giles sensed an argument brewing between the two and felt it best to retreat from the situation. He took a page out of Cordelia’s book and became suddenly fascinated with the art of cuticle care. He shined his fingernails on his shirt and peered at them with a single-minded fixation.

“Faith said I could.”

“Of course she did…”

“Everyone else goes with you all the time.” Wynonna said, gesturing to the gaggle of students at the center table. Like Giles, they too were suddenly captivated by the rather mundane details of life. This included the lack of air circulation in the stuffy library, that sports-game on TV last night that no one watched, and the coffee ring on the table nobody would fess up to. Anything but the growing tension between the two women.

“Well the gang has experience. Giles, tell her she can’t come.” But Giles had already disappeared into the relatively safe confines of his office.

“You sound like every entry-level job request ever. Nobody has years of experience when they’re starting out! Everybody has to start somewhere.” Buffy started to walk away, but Wynonna persisted.

“I told you I was attacked by demons six years ago and lived. That’s got to count for something! Plus I’m the heir to…”

“Some curse, the rites to which you don’t inherit for another decade?” Wynonna opened and closed her mouth like a fish, struggling to come up with a response. It was true. As far as she knew, she was as good as human the next 10 years of her life.

“I maybe didn’t pay as much attention as I should have. Maybe it was 10 years from now, or maybe 10 minutes from now. The details are fuzzy, so I can’t really be sure.” Buffy walked over to the weapons cabinet and gestured at the crossbow.

“How’s your aim?”

“I could probably hit a lawman at zero paces.”

“Can you fight with swords?” She asked, waving at the plethora of sharp, pointy steel.

“Well, I’ve never…”

“Broad-staff?”

“How hard can it…”

“Faith and I are Slayers. Xander and Giles bring technical skills with weapons. Cordelia runs the getaway car. Willow brings the magic, and Oz can wolf-out to crush the competition. Tell me Wynonna, what else can you possibly bring to the table?” Wynonna crossed her arms and pondered. After a few moments of thoughtful silence, her face split into a wide grin.

“I have just the thing.”

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

“Thish ishf bruhillient. Hunting fur vampiresh makesh me sho hungry! Gifs meh da munchies.” Xander said as he gulped down a mouthful of what once resembled a slice of pizza. Willow offered him a bottle of Coke and he washed down his feast with gusto. He smacked his lips and belched. “Why didn’t we ever think of this?”

“What can I say? I know what the people want.” Said Wynonna as she munched on a bag of bagel chips. This was the missing piece in the gang’s operations. How could a fight against evil be successful on empty stomachs? Although between the pizza, chips and soda, the group of teenagers looked less like a force against the darkness and more like a kid’s birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese. Buffy fiddled anxiously with her stake.

“I haven’t seen any vamps all night. It shouldn’t be this slow.” She said, begrudgingly accepting a piece of pepperoni Faith dangled in front of her face.

“Relaaaax, Buff.” The dark haired Slayer turned and tilted her head towards the bringer of pizzas. Faith winked conspiratorially and Wynonna felt a flush rise to her face. Thank goodness it was poorly lit, as graveyards tend to be. “That means we get to live a little tonight.”

“Maybe the food smell is cluing them into our location and making it easy for them to avoid us.” Buffy said sourly, biting into her late night snack.

“We do come here almost every night.” Willow interjected. “I’m surprised they still come here after all this time. It’s kind of like shooting fish in a barrel.” Buffy tossed her crust into the open pizza box and stood up with a stretch.

“It’s past midnight, and I want to make my fish quota before 2.” Buffy stalked off in search of prey and Willow scrambled to join her. The burgeoning witch spent the past two weeks developing a silencing charm and was eager to test it out in the field. She called it the ‘ninja shoes’ spell, although she said she was still working out the kinks. Xander, whose appetite should have been sated by his gluttonous intake of cheese and processed meats, watched Willow leave with an overtly hungry stare. He rose to chase after her, but not before stuffing a few more chips into his pockets.

“Boys are so dumb.” Faith chuckled, watching Xander lope off across the cemetery.

“They have their perks.” Wynonna responded, nibbling on her bagel chips absentmindedly. A small part of her was regretting not buying donuts for this midnight stakeout. Something sweet would really hit the spot right now. She roused herself from her sugar fantasies to find Faith looking at her skeptically. “What? They do!”

“Okay, name one.”

“You can borrow their jacket when it’s cold.”

“Nope, not a perk. You can totally borrow a girl’s jacket, and chances are it’ll actually fit. Try again!”

“If you dress cute and show off a little they start drooling like idiots and buy you dinner. If that’s not a perk, I don’t know what is.” Wynonna exploited this fact on numerous occasions. She knew how to pair a deep v-neck with a pouty bottom lip like a wine connoisseur pairs a Chardonnay with Gruyere. She had gotten many a free plate of pad-thai with that power combo. Thinking she had successfully outwitted Faith, Wynonna plucked another chip from the bag. It never made it to her mouth.

No, not because a vampire attacked them. That occurs a few moments from now.

Waverly had used many choice words to describe her sister. In this particular situation, Waverly would have opted to use ‘oblivious’. Most observant people would have picked up on an attractive woman stripping off her jacket and tossing it on the ground. Most observant people would have picked up on the wink and hair-flip that followed. And most observant people would have at least noticed the distance shrinking between them. But not even oblivious Wynonna could ignore the hand wrapped her wrist.

“You bought me dinner…” The Slayer’s fingers pressed firmly against the back of her hand, drawing Wynonna’s hand closer and closer to her lips. “Are you drooling yet?” Quite the opposite. Faith’s husky voice left Wynonna’s mouth feeling terribly dry. How could she drool when her mouth was parched?

“Oof, is it hot out here or what?” Wynonna laughed awkwardly. “No? Just me?”

Faith stopped millimeters from her mouth, and the two sat in silence. Wynonna shuddered as she realized that try as she must, she could not tear away from Faith’s dark eyes. The way she looked right through her sent chills down her spine…

Before she could make sense of anything, Faith flung Wynonna to the side. A vicious, snarling mass tore through the space she occupied moments before. A ravenous vampire clawed at the Slayer with violent swipes and lunged at her repeatedly, seeking to kill and devour her. Faith let out a battle cry and grappled the vampire with all her might. They tumbled over and over in the grass, and while Faith would normally be more than a match for the creature, it caught her by surprise.

Wynonna cast her eyes about frantically for the bag filled with stakes and holy water. It lay out of reach at the foot of the gravestone they had been eating at moments ago. That is, if you could call that whole ordeal ‘eating’. Faith delivered a well-placed knee to her opponent’s nether regions, but failed to escape from under its dead weight.

Wynonna was struck with sudden inspiration. She grabbed a handful of her now spilled bagel chips and shoved them down the collar of the vampire’s shirt. The vampire howled in agony and jumped to his feet, scratching at himself like a dog with fleas. Smoke rose from his skin like a cheap magic trick and the smell of burnt flesh wafted through the air.

Faith slipped her belt off from around her waist and collared the pitiful creature round the neck using the buckle end. She easily flanked the struggling fiend and kicked the vampire to his knees. With powerful ease, Faith yanked back on the belt while pressing the heel of her right boot into the middle of the vampire’s back. It gurgled as its back arched painfully, fingers clawing uselessly at the noose around its neck. Faith slipped into her back pocket and produced a stake. As she raised it to strike, she seemed to think better of it. Instead of plunging the stake into her foe, she tossed the stake to Wynonna.

“Come on, Wynonna. I’ve shown you my game. Now show me yours!” The fight had unleased a passion from a wildish place deep within the Slayer. It was a relentless feeling that would not release her from its grips until her quarry would move no more. Something hot and fiery within Wynonna answered in kind. Her grip tightened around the piece of wood and she approached the helpless vampire.

“Garlic and salt flavor, motherfucker.” Wynonna said, and she plunged the stake into the vampire’s heart. The beast dissolved to dust, and Wynonna could feel Faith looking at her with pride. Their chests heaved in unison. When their eyes met again, they each contained the deep-sated satisfaction that comes after a kill.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Ever notice how time seems to speed up during pop-quizzes while the firing speed of your neural synapses decreases? Whoever developed that theory of relativity was an asshole. If Wynonna any grasp of scientific theories and principles, perhaps she would have understood that neither of Einstein’s relativity theories had much to do with the amount of time she had to complete her quiz. But she didn’t, so she cursed the theory with all her might as the period bell signaled the end of class.

Her chemistry grades hadn’t improved greatly, no thanks to her lab partner Dash being absent from class. Dash had been surprisingly adept at chemistry and carried Wynonna through the practical laboratory sessions. However he was pushing two weeks of absence at this point, and Mr. Del Rey decided to pair Wynonna with Buffy and her lab partner Harmony for the time being. Buffy and Harmony didn’t work well together on the best of days and adding Wynonna only made things worse. Between Buffy’s lack of laboratory know-how, Harmony’s significant lack of critical thinking, and Wynonna’s enthusiastic attempts to mix chemicals together as fast as humanly possible, the three became intimately familiar with the laboratory’s safety features to include the chemical shower, fire extinguisher, and first aid kit.

Wynonna shouldered her backpack with a grunt and dropped her pop-quiz (more like poop-quiz, she thought) into the growing pile on Mr. Del Rey’s desk. He was bent over and scribbling on a notepad when he noticed her walking away. He pulled her aside, as had become his habit of late, and Wynonna felt her agitation begin to rise. Something about him got her riled up inside.

“Yes I’ve tried studying with Jeffrey, but every word that comes out of his mouth makes me want to strangle him.” She blurted out.

“That’s not actually what I wanted to speak to you about, but glad you’re making an effort.” He tap-tap-tapped the tip of his pen against the top edge of his notebook. He was clearly agitated about something. “I’m afraid your lab-mate, Dash, has decided to drop the class. I’ll have to permanently assign you to Buffy and Harmony’s team.”

“WHAT?” Wynonna yelled as she dropped her backpack at her feet. “That is a terrible idea! Aren’t you getting a little bit tired of smelling burnt hair? Because I know I am.” She thrust her forearm in his face. During this week’s lab she reached across an active Bunsen burner. Her arm lit up in a blaze of glory from the elbow down and the lab erupted into chaos. Buffy leapt across the room and raced back to her flaming lab partner carrying a woolen fire blanket overhead. Her smothering technique was on point, which led Wynonna to believe she was not the first fiery-handed teenager Buffy had extinguished in her high-school career. Her moderately scorched skin was now a constant reminder of her plummeting grade-point average.

“You’re being a tad bit dramatic, Wynonna.” He said dryly, pressing her hand out of his face. “Every team has its growing pains. Before you know it, you’ll leave the ‘storming’ phase and be well on your way to ‘performing’.” Wynonna fumed at the condescension oozing between his words. Some of it was imagined, but some of it was real. She refused to stick around for whatever else he might have to say and stormed out of the classroom in a huff.

You can take a warrior out of a fight, but you can’t take the fight out of a warrior. Wynonna Earp wasn’t in Canada anymore, but she was still an EARP, and a hotheaded Earp was a dangerous thing. Students on their way to next period parted before her in waves. They pressed against lockers, executed a perfect about-face, or grabbed the nearest unwary freshman to act as a human shield to avoid the storm that was Hurricane Wynonna. The alarming number of student deaths may fool a casual onlooker, but the students of Sunnydale High were survivors. Each and every one. These hardened teenagers managed to survive zombie maulings, demonic possessions, reptile-steroids, and the ever constant threat of vampire attack. While Wynonna felt little to no ill will towards the general student populous, the rage that emanated from her angry stride sent their survival instincts into overdrive.

Funny thing about anger is that it really messes with one’s fine motor control skills. So when Oz passed by Wynonna’s locker on his way to history, he couldn’t help but notice she seemed to be struggling with her locker combination.

“To the casual observer, it would appear that you're on the verge of ripping that locker a new one.” He said, watching her twist at the latch with a resentment one only acquires after failing to open something after the seventh or eighth try. “I’ve seen Buff tear doors clear off their hinges, and it wouldn’t surprise me if you could too. Mind if I watch?”

Suddenly Wynonna’s energy levels dropped from a ten to a two. She slumped against the wall in defeat, staring sullenly at the students that passed her by. Oz joined her, looking out into the crowd in quiet solidarity. He was cool like that.

“You okay?” He asked after a moment of quiet contemplation.

“Don’t you have someplace to be?”

“I’ll get there. I’ve got a minute or two, and something tells me you could use one of those minutes.”

Where to start? She was livid about the recent confrontation with Del Rey. Everything about his stupid attitude and his stupid hair and his stupid clipboard he always carried drove her absolutely insane. What she would give to rip that stupid goatee off his face and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. As if struggling in his class wasn’t bad enough, she was struggling in all of her classes. Except for ceramics in which her greatest achievement was an ugly cookie jar. She was afraid to put cookies in it, because the cookies might come out looking as monstrous as their container.

Then there was her… lack of focus. When her English teacher called on her to discuss a passage from the Great Gatsby, the only words she could think of were _‘Are you drooling yet?’_ When her math teacher instructed the class to solve for a quadratic solution, all she could see were dark, brown eyes feverish with the thrill of the kill. Wynonna couldn’t remember the last time she felt so exhilarated. The excitement wasn’t just from the hunt. But in true Wynonna fashion, she chose not to talk to Faith about her flirtatious advances. Instead, she refused to deal with it.

She didn’t need a minute. She needed a thousand minutes. Or even better, zero minutes. Then she could just move on and not have to think about it. A soft buzz rang in her jeans pocket. Someone was calling her.

“You should get that.” Oz said as the bell rang. “And we should get going. Let me know if you need to vent, yeah?” Wynonna nodded and managed a small smile as he walked away. She was on free period and didn’t need to be anywhere, but she let the call go to voicemail. She knew who it was.

After the vibrating stopped, she unlocked her phone to confirm her suspicions. She was half right. The first phone-call was from Faith, but the second call was from an unknown number. As she went to delete the unknown caller from her history, the unknown caller sent her a text-message.

_[1052] UNKNOWN: This is Angel-Pants calling Bacon-Donut, do you read?_

The void left by her frustration from minutes ago was now filled with excitement. There was only one person in this world that could get away with calling her something so ridiculous.

_[1052] WYNONNA: OMG WAVERLY IS THIS U? Did u steal Chrissy’s phone?_

_[1053] UNKNOWN: Uncle Curtis finally bought me a phone!!! I’m still playing with it, but you’re the first person I wanted to text. You should feel honored! =D_

Wynonna was honored. She was excited and a little bit sad and suddenly a little too overwhelmed with emotions. After sending a few more eager messages back and forth, it dawned on Wynonna that her little sister still lived in Canada and international messaging was definitely not part of her phone plan. She explained this and told Waverly she would talk to her tonight after school. Then they could set up a messaging app to allow them to talk anytime.

Wynonna moved to grab her backpack, and realized it was no longer in her possession. After a few moments of confusion, she realized she dropped it in the chemistry classroom during her outburst. She retraced her steps back to the classroom, and the door was closed. Through the slim, rectangular window she saw her backpack in a heap and she reached to open the door.

Mr. Del Rey walked into her field of view holding the same clipboard and she froze. He looked out into the quad, staring distantly at something that wasn’t there. Something about that thousand yard stare stopped her from twisting the doorknob. She shrunk down on instinct, hiding in the corner of the tiny glass window.

The chemistry teacher tap-tap-tapped the clipboard absently, then seemed to get frustrated. He flung it onto his desk in agitation. He walked to his personal closet on the far side of the room. If earlier today time sped up during the pop-quiz, then it slowed down when Mr. Del Rey opened the closet door. If she had any hairs left on her arm, they would have stood up in unison with the rest of the hairs of her body.

He pushed aside several items of clothing and pulled out a black, leather jacket on a green hanger. Del Rey twisted it frontways and sideways and spent what felt like an eternity inspecting it thoroughly. Then, like a chef checking a stew, he licked it slowly and tenderly with the broad surface of his tongue.

Wynonna wanted to vomit.

It wasn’t just any leather jacket. It was Dash’s.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

None of the six texts she sent Dash got a response. She fled the classroom in a panic, all thoughts of backpack retrieval a problem for future-Wynonna. She paced back and forth in the student lounge, unsure of what to do. Giles was trapped in a staff meeting with Principal Snyder. Buffy and company were either in class or doing field-work for Faith’s new watcher, Mrs. Post. _I suppose I could actually call her, but that’s a bit of a 180. From total avoidance to ‘I think my lab-partner was abducted by a teacher please help.’_

The Universe, who just cleaned house on a high-stakes Poker Spectacular in the twelfth dimension, happened to hear Wynonna’s distress across the fabric of the cosmos. Flush with other-worldly dough, the Universe was feeling generous today. Wynonna was immediately overcome with the need to visit the restroom. Thus relieved, Wynonna left the stall to wash her hands and there she was.

Colleen with the nose ring and smoky eyeshadow.

“Colleen! Funny seeing you here.”

Wynonna tried to come off casual but felt her voice trembling. Colleen sniffled in response. She rubbed at her eyes and increased the smokiness of her eyeshadow two-fold. _Not good._

“Are you alright? Are things not good with Dash?” Colleen burst into tears. It was a low blow. Wynonna knew she was about to drag this poor girl’s emotions through the mud, but right now Colleen was her only source of information. She rubbed the Colleen’s shoulder, trying to steady her shaking frame. Wynonna both needed and dreaded the answers she was about to receive.

“I-I haven’t heard from him. It’s been w-weeks… and n-neither have his parents.” She pulled away from Wynonna’s touch and crossed her arms around her midsection. Her next words came out in almost a whisper. “They’ve f-filed a missing persons report with the police… but there’s been no news, no Dash, no n-nothing. First it was Skylar,” _Well, he wasn’t who you thought he was_. Wynonna scoffed internally, but tried her hardest to keep a sympathetic face “now Dash. What if I’m next?” She ended in a high squeal.

“Next? Why would you be next? Next what? Colleen, what’s going on?”

Colleen’s eyes flitted between the mirror and the sink. Her bottom lip quivered. She was torn up inside about something, but what? Sensing Colleen would flee the restroom at any moment, Wynonna made a desperate demonstration of confidentiality and extended her pinky finger. After several heavy moments, Colleen accepted the sacred pinky swear and let Wynonna into her confidence.

She produced a tiny vial of perfectly clear liquid from the coin pocket in her pants and set it down on the countertop. Wynonna’s eyes fluttered shut and her eyebrows knitted together in a frown. Of course drugs were involved.

“Dash knows how to make morphine. Opioids are all the rage right now. The guys and I went all in. Dash made the dope and the rest of us sold. He’s been breaking into the chemistry lab for months now and using the equipment there. I was the driver.”

“We were about to start a batch three weeks ago, but he came running out of the school only minutes later. He yelled at me to drive.” Colleen wrung her hands anxiously. “So we drove away, but another car started followed us from the parking lot. I couldn’t shake it and I was low on gas and nearly on empty. I couldn’t just stop on side of the road in the middle of the night with who knows following, so I pulled into the closest gas station. Turns out it was Mr. Del Rey following us.”

“Dash told me to stay in the car and he got out. Said he would handle it. He and Mr. Del Rey started shouting at each other outside. I just remember thinking this can’t be happening, and I tried to make myself as small as possible. I couldn’t make out the words, but there was a lot of anger and shoving involved. It felt like an eternity, but eventually Mr. Del Rey got in his car. And he drove off.”

Wynonna’s mind was spinning with possibilities, but Colleen wasn’t finished. She had worked herself into a panic and was on the verge of an absolute meltdown.

“He got back in and stared through the windshield with this hollow look in his eyes. Then he turned to me and said ‘I saw a monster tonight’ and told me to drive home. I don’t know what he meant by that but he wouldn’t talk about what happened. I asked and asked, but he wouldn’t say anything more. He stopped texting, calling me. Then a few days later... he was gone. He’s been missing ever since.”

.o0o. END CHAPTER 3 .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say Faith was less hungry and more thirsty in this chapter. Two damaged people feeling mutual attractions. Sounds healthy! What could go wrong?
> 
> If you don't know who Marshal Del Rey iis, I would recommend picking up a copy of the Beau Smith Wynonna Earp comics from IDW. He's one of the first baddies Wynonna hunts down, and may give you some insight into where this fanfiction is headed. Or don't, and be surprised! (But it's a fun read you totally should.)
> 
> BtVS S3 Episode References: None, this original content occurs place between "Band Candy" and "Revelations"


	4. STRONG PICK-UPS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynonna and Faith have a conversation while watching infomercials in the dead of night. The next day, they team up to investigate Mars Del Rey and happen upon some troubling evidence.

_[2334] WYNONNA: Can I stop by tonight?_

_[2335] FAITH: not up to company_

_[2335] WYNONNA: What if I said I was already outside?_

_[2338] FAITH: fine it’s open_

The latch on the hotel room door slid open with a rusty scratch, and Wynonna gently pushed her way inside. Faith had already returned to her messy bed, dressed in sleep shorts and a ratty undershirt. She sat with her knees tucked to her chest and a TV remote in hand. She flicked through channels lethargically. Her eyes were red and puffy, almost as red and puffy as her split lower lip and swollen jaw.

“Geez, what happened?” Wynonna asked warily. She was no longer a stranger to Slayer strength and their seemingly endless physical resiliency. Seeing Faith with the crap kicked out of her? This must’ve been serious.

“Thought I’d try out a new look.” She chuckled darkly. “What do you think? I’m calling it B&B, by B. Battered and Bruised, by Buffy.”

The cold, bitter joke threw Wynonna for a loop. Why would Buffy have given Faith such a beat down? As far as she could tell, Buffy treated Faith as a younger sibling. On more than one occasion, Wynonna overheard Buffy refer to Faith as her ‘bestest little sister’. If she wasn’t defending Faith’s past, then she was defending her impulsive and sometimes antagonistic actions against those who criticized her. Siblings fight and sometimes they get hurt. But outright injured? Was there something more violent beneath the surface of their competitive relationship?

“What, you mean… she did this to you?” “Oh, did you get hit in the head today too? Is that why you wanted to stop by? Trade war stories?”

“Stop it…” Wynonna was not prepared for this. A different confrontation perhaps, even some mild apologizing on her part. She didn’t expect to step into a mess like this. “Talk to me. I want to help.”

“Doesn’t really feel like it.” The Slayer said bitterly, pretending to watch the infomercial for Dyson vacuums. Knowing the Slayer’s focus was not actually on the enthusiastic advertisement for DIRECT-DRIVE CLEANER HEAD FOR STRONG PICK-UPS, Wynonna sat down tentatively on the armchair in the corner of the room. “You’ve been ignoring me for days.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like? Not sure I’ll believe you, because I’m kind of over the whole trust thing.”

“I wouldn’t recommend trusting most people. Or having expectations for them. They’ll just let you down.”

“You can say that again.”

On TV, the well dressed infomercial salesman delivered his pitch to the camera. IT’S UNBELIEVABLE, THIS MODEL SUCKS AND BLOWS!

That vacuum salesman knows what’s up. “Look, it’s late. Why are you here? What do you want?” Wynonna fiddled with her fingernails as she tried to put her thoughts in order.

“I want to apologize. I ghosted you for a hot minute and that was pretty shitty.” Faith huffed and rolled her eyes.

Wynonna spent the last five years numbing herself to feelings with sex, drugs, and insensitive jokes about Sheriff Nedley’s hat. It had been a long time since she felt anything more than disappointment, hatred, or indifference. Now something unusual was writhing between her ribs. It urged her to word vomit everything, but her anxiety fought frantically to stifle every syllable. Her face twisted as she battled her insides.

“Is that it?” Faith’s features were hard and feigned boredom, but the pitch of her voice gave her away. She couldn’t hide the undercurrent of hurt in those three words.

“I’m a screw-up. Always have been. I mean, I left my demon-ridden hometown behind and then during my second week in a new town? I go off with a guy who turned out to be a demon and almost got eaten. Who even does that?” Wynonna laughed awkwardly and felt the word vomit coming.

“Then you swooped in and rescued me like a total bad-ass. I thought it was the blood-loss or the whole hero-syndrome thing… but days later you were still beautiful. I mean anyone with eyes can see that.”

“I told you about my life. It felt like we both got cut from this super fucked up cloth, and you don’t judge me for that. For being an orphaned fuck-up who killed…” She choked. Faith no longer pretended to be interested in the DYSON DIFFERENCE and had both eyes glued to the rambling girl in her armchair.

“Then you had to go and make eating bagel chips and killing demons way sexier than it had any right to be. It freaked me out. Not because you’re a girl. I mean kind of yeah because you’re a girl and I don’t know if it’s for me. Or maybe it could be? I’ve never tried. I just don’t do… whatever this is. I slept with Megan Halshford’s boyfriend because I wanted to hurt her. And I slept with Kyle because I was bored with Pete.”

“But I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m definitely not bored. But maybe you’re like this with everybody and I’ve read way too much into everything and made it weird when it didn’t have to be weird. That’s why I left you hanging. Because I suck.”

POWERFUL, DEEP-CLEANING, AND SELLS FOR AN AFFORDABLE PRICE! Faith turned off the TV. Wynonna thought she would suffocate on the silence that ensued. She missed vacuum-man. Over the course of her monologue, Faith maintained her stoic expression. Wynonna recalled wearing a similar face on many an occasion. Having worn that face, she knew there could be dozens of trains of thought independently churning beneath the surface. In her experience, most of those trains ran out of track and ended in catastrophe. Her stomach twisted in knots. This had been a mistake.

“Well. Look at you keeping it one hundred . Did you practice that in the mirror?”

“…more of a wing-it kind of girl.” Wynonna mumbled, concentrating on the searing pain from the hangnail she gave herself.

“I could have used that earlier. Like when I called.”

“I know, I just…”

“Mrs. Post is dead.” Faith said flatly. “Watched her burn to death today. Oh, but that was after I found out Buffy has been hiding her evil, undead-boyfriend from everybody. He had the Glove of Myhnegon so I tried to stake him. She beat the shit out of me.” She said, pointing to her bruised face.

“Post used me. Turns out Angel was the good guy and I was the idiot. Crazy bitch used me to steal that fucking glove from him and turn into an evil lightning monster.” Faith’s stoic mask started to crack. The edges around her eyes hardened and the corner of her mouth screwed up in a knot. “I trusted her. Thought she cared about me. Be my person, you know? Then she tried to kill me.”

“That’s… a lot.” Wynonna twisted her nail like one rolls a newspaper. The tender, now unprotected flesh wept a tiny tear of blood.

“That’s my life.” Faith replied, sounding very small indeed.

“Do you have nail clippers?” Not waiting for an answer, Wynonna all but leapt out of the chair and hurried to the bathroom. She rummaged around the cabinets, feeling more and more awful by the moment. Not only could she not find the nail clippers, but she couldn’t find any whiskey. Who didn’t keep whiskey in their medicine cabinet?

Wynonna could strongly relate to the betrayal of authority figures. She recalled the time her probation officer used her to run illegal drugs in and out of Purgatory High which landed her another stint in juvie. Between the apology turned emotional admission and Faith’s blasé description of almost being killed by a Watcher gone bad, Wynonna wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Whatever it was it wasn’t great. The self-inflicted nail pain wasn’t helping.

An arm reached over her left shoulder and opened the only cabinet she hadn’t tried. Of course. She reached for the tiny clippers and froze. The woman behind her hadn’t moved away. Was it her imagination, or was Faith moving closer? What should she do? Turn around? Stay facing the wall? Every option seemed more awkward than the last.

“So…” Faith drawled. Wynonna braced herself for what came next. “That was, uh, quite the speech there.

Gotta say I’m a little shook.” “Speech? What speech? I must’ve blacked out, ‘cause I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Wynonna denied, deciding to stay facing the wall. With one snip she removed the errant hangnail from its nailbed. Feeling the need to buy time, she took to evening out her other nine fingers with meticulous detail.

“I was beginning to think I was barking up the wrong tree. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’m getting the vibe that you’re super into trees. You sleep in them. You bark at them. Don’t tell me you hug them too. I know this is California and all but come on. Have some self-respect.”

“Did you mean all that?” Faith asked.

“You said you wouldn’t believe me anyways.” She muttered. There was still space between the two, but only in the strictest definition of the word. Wynonna stood several inches taller than Faith. This placed the shorter girl’s mouth at shoulder height, and with every exhale, Wynonna could feel her warm breath roll across her skin.

“What would it matter if I said yes? I might as well say no.” She finished the tenth and final nail and slid the clippers shut.

Reflected in the shiny stainless steel was an unrecognizable brown smudge. The distorted reflection did nothing to capture the visage of the girl behind her. Under tasteless, incandescent lighting in a motel bathroom, the two kindred spirits pressed closer and closer together without ever touching. The air felt pressurized, like water in a dam full to burst.

“Well, which is it?” Faith wanted an answer. Wrapping one arm around the taller girl, she closed her hand around Wynonna’s. With a sultry grace, she guided Wynonna to set the clippers down and pressed her jaw to the outside of her shoulder. Faith’s dark eyes flitted right and took in Wynonna’s face. The Earp girl’s face was flushed in stark contrast to her pale complexion, and her breathing came quickly. Try as she might to catch her gaze, Wynonna continued to stare resolutely forward.

Faith wanted those eyes on her, and she lowered her voice to the familiar pitch she used to take the things she wanted. “Unless I’m mistaken, it sounds like I succeeded at making bagel chips sexy? Because that wasn’t easy. I’m a Slayer, not a magician.” That tone of voice did the trick. Wynonna slowly turned to face Faith, her hand remaining entwined with Faith’s. Faith pressed it against the wall and leaned in, placing her other palm firmly on the crest of Wynonna’s hip. Wynonna’s heart drummed in her chest, hammering against the human who leaned flush against her torso. She opened her mouth.

“Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

Their lips pressed together. Both of them burned with hunger, and both were desperate to feel something. Anything. Desperate to escape the deadening loneliness that ate constantly at their foundations. They could taste each other’s scars. Suddenly neither of them was alone.

“How was that? For you?” Wynonna asked, her breath shaking. Her nerves jittered with electricity.

“Five by five.”

“Is that like… five out of five?”

Faith responded by capturing her mouth again. It was fiercer this time. Harder. Starved. Faith’s hands buried in the sweeping mane of Wynonna’s hair and tugged her down by the back of the neck. Wynonna knew that if Faith decided not to let go, then that would be that. Something wet dripped down her lower lip, and she broke apart, bringing a finger to her mouth. It came back with a smear of crimson blood. Faith’s busted lip had reopened.

“I should have answered your call.” Wynonna frowned, rubbing her thumb gently against the cut on Faith’s lip.

“Probably better you didn’t answer.” Faith shrugged. “Giles got hurt, hell I got hurt. You could have gotten caught up in all that… and people die around me a lot.”

“Me too. I think my lab partner is dead.”

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

When Wynonna came to live with the Bleeker family, Mrs. Bleeker welcomed her enthusiastically. She spent months planning for her arrival and made sure the bedroom on the first floor was perfect for the new member of their family. And perfect it was! Perfect for her regular late night excursions. At approximately 2:30 in the morning, Wynonna slipped under the partially open mesh screen of her bedroom window. Although exhausted, she couldn’t stop mulling over the events of the day.

An investigation of Dash’s disappearance was in order, but she and Faith decided not to involve the others. Not yet. At the very least they needed evidence of something supernatural or otherworldly. That’s what they said to each other, but they both knew the real reason. The exclusion most certainly stemmed from the now strained relationship between the two Slayers.

They hatched a plan together to follow one Mr. Mars Del Rey and search for evidence of involvement with the drug-deal gone bad. Unfortunately, neither of them were planners. Faith met Wynonna at the front gates of Sunnydale High the following day. Within moments of her stepping foot on school grounds, Principal Snyder sent Faith packing. Who would have guessed non-students weren’t allowed on campus?

“That went well.” Faith said from the street side of the metal fence. She gripped a bar in each hand and leaned against the rigid barrier. Her back arched and she pressed her face tauntingly between the metal bars. Provocation was her specialty and she had a lot of practice using it to capture other people’s attention. At the moment, she knew Wynonna only had eyes for her.

“Maybe you should’ve tried attracting less attention.”

“S’not really my style. Besides, I like the attention you’re giving my face.” In response, Wynonna ripped her gaze away and trilled her lips disdainfully. She happened to have a lot of practice in pretending not to give a fuck. They each had their talents.

“I have an idea… give me a bit to work it out. If it works out, I’ll send you the deets later?”

Faith’s fingers tapped against the bars and she peered into Wynonna’s face. Unable to discern what she was up to, Faith relented. She winked slyly, blew a kiss, and turned to leave. Wynonna watched her saunter away, hands jammed into her pockets and attitude cutting through the wind. A smile crept unbidden onto her face.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

“Have you ever tried being invisible?” Wynonna asked Sunnydale High’s premier red-headed witch. It was the lunch hour, and the typical library dwellers were representing in full force. Willow tapped away on her laptop and munched on a PB&J while Wynonna snacked on chips she grabbed from a vending machine.

“Yeah, my entire freshman year. Only I didn’t try so much as it just sort of happened.”

“That’s horribly depressing, yet incredibly relatable.” Wynonna frowned. “I meant actually invisible though. Like with magic.” At the mention of the M-word, Willow’s ears perked up. In her recent search for anti-love brews, invisibility appeared in several related research references. Willow planned to visit a local magic shop before her next class, and suggested Wynonna join her. They could pick up ingredients for both spells while they were there.

For a store that purported to sell arcane wares, its exterior was unremarkable at best. The aqua-green and teal walls were accented by a white trim border in desperate need of a new coat of paint. Miscellaneous flyers for hot yoga and cheap yardwork peppered the exterior, accented by tasteless light fixtures. The shop’s name was emblazoned on the roof in mismatched lettering: MAGIC BOX. Willow entered through a thin white door and beckoned her hesitant Earp companion to follow.

It became quickly apparent that Willow and the shopkeeper were on a first name basis. The woman was dowdy, bucktoothed, and in her mid-to-late-sixties. Perhaps her unflattering floral garb was intended to camouflage her amongst the myriad of knick-knacks and oddities crowding every shelf and tabletop. Bangles and curious crystals adorned her both wrists and her throat, and they clanged about noisily as she gestured this way and that. She waved Willow in the direction of a drawer cluttered with oddly colored candles smelling suspiciously of slugs.

The shopkeeper now turned her attention on Wynonna and came out from behind the counter. Her worn Birkenstocks made a soft shuffling sound against the worn linoleum. Wynonna frowned. If the shopkeeper attempted to pull a quarter out of her ear, she would soon find herself attempting to pull Wynonna’s knuckles out of her teeth.

“I’m Rowena Babbage.” She said good naturedly, proffering a pudgy hand. “Your friend here tells me you’re here for an invisibility spell? What level practitioner would you say you are?” Wynonna grimaced.

“Let’s say I’m failing basic chemistry, so zero. Do you have anything pre-batched for sale?” “Ah, yes indeed, and I know just where to find it. Come! Let’s take a look at the potions cabinet.” Rowena grabbed Wynonna by the elbow and dragged her over to a glass cabinet filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes. Rowena plucked a tapered vial of clear liquid from between a twisted, bright red bottle labeled ‘essence of rose thorn’ and a squat bottle that looked like eyeballs pickled in honey. Wynonna could not remotely fathom what magical purpose pickled eyeballs could have.

“The incantation and dosing instructions are written here on the vial.” she pointed to the tiny text, “Use the dropper to apply two drops under the tongue for every hour you wish to remain unseen. Speak the incantation while holding the liquid under your tongue, and voila! Invisible to the naked eye.”

Wynonna reached for her wallet while tapping out a message on her phone.

_[1052] WYNONNA: Magic Box on Maple Court. Meet me out back in 20, I got the goods_

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

“Though they look, they shall not see. Clear as water, make me be.” Wynonna squeezed the bitter liquid under her tongue. A numbing chill spread from her mouth and down her throat. She shivered as it lodged in the pit of her stomach and leeched into her bones. As she passed the potion to Faith, her fingertips were already fading from view.

“That’s wild!” Faith said, staring at the space where Wynonna’s feet used to be. She followed suit, and the pair vanished from sight.

“Hold up.” Wynonna paused, noticing a flaw in their scheming. “If we can’t see each other, how do we stick together? Or not walk into each other? I’m pretty sure the jig will be up if people hear swearing come outta empty air.”

“Don’t move.” Faith reached out an invisible hand, searching…

“That’s my boob…”

“I know.”

Wynonna rolled her eyes. She felt Faith’s hand travel down her transparent arm and firmly clasp her own hand. A set of invisible lips pressed a chaste kiss to the tops of her invisible knuckles. It was a bizarre sensation, and she was glad her newly acquired transparency hid her reaction.

“Alright, Wy. Let’s find ourselves a bad guy.”

The two set off towards the school entrance, bee-lining for the class Wynonna should have been attending. The stared through the tiny window in the classroom window and observed the jacket-licking freak that was her chemistry teacher. Nothing in his current behavior seemed out of the ordinary. From their vantage point, they could even see Buffy nodding off in the back of class. Business as usual.

The period bell clanged and students from all along the hall poured out of classrooms in one big rush. Fearing one would bump into them, they pressed flat against the wall and waited for the crowds to die down. Eventually Buffy walked by them, completely unaware of their presence. Wynonna felt Faith lean forward. There was a small smack, and Buffy jumped in surprise. She clasped her bottom, her face red with rage. She spun around and faced down the unfortunate boy who happened to be a few steps behind her. Some people are just unlucky.

Wynonna felt Faith rippling with laughter, and struggled to suppress her own amusement. Faith leaned over and whispered, “It’s not much payback for the shit she just put me through, but oh… what I wouldn’t give to mess with her all day. Steal her shit, trip her up a bit, ya know. Drive her crazy.” Before Faith could act on any of her ideas to make Buffy’s day miserable, their mark was on the move and Wynonna tugged her preoccupied partner along in hot pursuit.

Mr. Del Rey, clearly a degenerative ne’er-do-well, entered the teacher’s lounge and settled into a lounge chair holding a suspicious cup of coffee and a suspicious briefcase that was stuffed with suspicious papers. Oblivious to the two sets of eyes that watched his every move, he spread the papers out on the coffee-table and began the nefarious task of grading papers. After almost 45 minutes of watching him scratch tiny red X’s on his student’s hopes and dreams while sipping cheap break-room coffee, Wynonna and Faith began losing interest in their mission, which had seemed daring and exciting the evening before.

“This is boring.” Wynonna growled quietly, resisting the urge to tap her foot anxiously.

“This was your idea.” “Well next time I have a boring idea, stop me. Okay?” She flexed her fingers. Today maxed out her lifetime quota for hand-holding, and then some. She was definitely over it. Almost on cue, Faith relaxed her grip and slipped her fingers away. For a moment Wynonna felt nothing and saw nothing. Then Faith’s fingers reappeared.

They slid from the small of her back, up and over the crest of her hips, settling low on her body. Faith’s thumbs hooked her two front belt loops while her other digits set to rubbing slowly. The Slayer’s front was now flush against her back and she began slowly walking backwards. “Oh my god,” Wynonna hissed, “what are you doing?”

“I’m making this less boring.” The Slayer’s voice was almost inaudible. All vibration and feeling. They now leaned against the far wall by the lounge fridge, Faith pulling the taller girl into her front.

“He’s going to hear us.” Wynonna mumbled.

“Not if you’re quiet.” Faith replied, smirking as she felt Wynonna press back into her. She walked her hands up, questing for the invisible edge of her shirt and slipping underneath.

Just as things were heating up, Mr. Del Rey’s coffee was cooling down. He swallowed distastefully, then decided some things were better left unfinished. He dropped the cup unceremoniously in the trash and reached his arms overhead. Time to stretch the legs. Del Rey abandoned his paperwork and left the lounge. If had been paying more attention, perhaps he would have noticed the flustered and heavy breathing that followed in his wake.

The girls followed him to the cafeteria, where janitors mopped up after the lunch period. One janitor nodded knowingly to him and waved him to the delivery entrance. Wynonna and Faith dashed through the swinging double doors, taking care not to bump into them and draw attention to themselves. They watched as Del Rey squatted at the edge of the concrete drop-off entrance. A delivery man in a dark blue utility uniform exited a parked van and approached Del Rey, chomping absently on a toothpick.

“This is the last of it, Barney.” Del Rey smacked palms with the delivery man, slipping a small pouch of glass vials into his front shirt pocket. “My manufacturer here, has been, how would you say… cut off?”

“Yeah, gotch’yer message, Mars. Already called Debbie, an’ she’s got leads on a few sources.”

“Excellent.” Mars hummed in satisfaction. “You know what to do. Did you put your votes in yet?”

“Aw, you know it boss.” Barney chuckled. “S’my favorite night of the week. Wouldn’t miss it fer anything.”

“How’s your pool look?”

“Waitn’ till game time ta make the call, but my money’s on that new one being a bust.”

Mars snorted and rocked back on his heels. “A bust? He’s no stud, but I pegged him for an underdog. Bet he’ll surprise you.”

“Suit yerself. It’ll be entertaining either way.” Barney called out as he walked back to his van, waving goodbye. Del Rey turned and retraced his path through the cafeteria delivery entrance with his two invisible shadows in tow.

“I don’t get it.” Wynonna lamented. “So Dash made dope for Del Rey and his friends to get hella high while they play in a fantasy football league? Then they get mad and scared him off?”

“Maybe he just freaked.” Faith speculated. “Drugs make people do crazy things. Maybe it was too much for him and he split town.” Wynonna wasn’t convinced, but Faith seemed keen on giving up the whole matter and discovering more creative uses for their invisibility. It took some coaxing, but she managed to convince Faith to return to the teacher’s lounge for a while longer. As old Mr. Nicholson the biology teacher left the lounge, they slipped noiselessly through the swinging door.

Del Rey had returned to grading papers, and spent the next 10 minutes or so furiously scribbling his reaction to his students’ failings in the margins. Then his stomach growled something fierce. The invisible girls watched Del Rey walk over to the fridge. He pawed through the gross accumulation of Tupperware and half-used bottles of salad dressing for snacks. The sight of sandwiches reminded the girls that they had skipped lunch. A half-eaten tub of spaghetti clattered to the floor, and Faith decided she had had enough.

Just as Faith was about to run off with or without her partner in crime, she stopped. She shook her head, hoping it was a trick of the light or a hallucination. Her hand ached under Wynonna’s death grip. She knew she was not mistaken. A sickening chomp grated on her ears, like steel teeth gnawing on pebbles. Crouching behind the fridge door, Del Rey dipped a half-eaten human finger in hummus and took a second bite. The little tendons flopped out of his mouth like noodles.

They ran.

“Did you see that? He had a box full of them!” Wynonna and Faith were now doubled over on the school’s front steps gasping for air. Nausea gripped her insides and Wynonna clutched her knees as though she were about to vomit. “That disgusting, sonuvabitch. He’s lucky I didn’t have my knife on me or I would have sliced his fingers off myself.” Faith ranted. Wynonna turned towards the empty air and saw an outline shift in her peripherals. The invisibility potion was wearing off.

“Then he’s probably not human, or at least I hope he’s not.” Wynonna shuddered, swallowing the bile that itched in her throat. “You’re the demon killer. What is he?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Whatever he is, he’s about to be dead.” The Slayer began to seep into view, like the first wash of a watercolor on canvas. Wynonna felt her skin crawl, and realized she too was seeping into existence.

“Seriously though, you gotta drop his class. You might be next on the menu.”

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

When they heard the news, the Scoobies were horrified. Something had to be done, and they agreed it was their duty to take the cannibal teacher head on. Willow and Xander stayed late after school to prepare for the encounter, but then something unspeakable occurred. One drunk and malevolent vampire named Spike kidnapped the two and held them hostage. Their kidnapping led to kissing, and their rescue led to ruin. All intentions of confronting a cannibal teacher were overridden by Cordelia’s hospitalization and the relationship fallouts that ensued.

Soon they had all but forgotten the cannibal, but Wynonna remembered. Her dreams were fraught with the crunching of bones. For weeks, she sat through those chemistry classes like a glutton for punishment. Her bones ached with morbid dread every time Del Rey’s eyes passed over her. Would today be the day he tried to eat her? Would he serve her with ketchup or mustard? Perhaps both?

She decided. Something had to be done.

Marshal Del Rey and Principal Snyder strutted side by side through the courtyard, one horrible man in the company of another. They chatted jovially with sickening grins plastered on their faces. Wynonna’s temper raged. The grip on the stolen knife dug a deep welt into the palm of her hand, but she only squeezed tighter. The two men were too far away for her to make out their conversation, but her imagination filled the blanks with the conversations of serial killers. “Did you hear what that sophomore said to me? He tried to butter me up to get out of detention. Well… I sure showed him. Roux-ined his day.”

Her mind flashed back to monstrous demons with sharp, horrible teeth, red eyes, and their bodies shrouded in darkness. Blood-curdling screams from her childhood kindled her fury. That’s what he was. A monster. The knife in her sleeve cried out for blood, and she started towards her enemy in broad daylight. Adrenaline flooded her body and blinded her peripherals as she stalked forward with death in her heart.

“Not today, Satan.” She growled under her breath.

“Loved the look last night, Cor. Dumpster chic for the dumped.” Harmony tittered with her flock of groupies. The vapid teenagers were entirely blind to the explosion that was about to happen and wandered directly into the line of fire. The blonde, sun-kissed teens took in the pale northerner with a mixture of fear and revulsion.

“Ugh, you’re looking more freakish than usual.” Said Harmony in her most condescending tone. “But seriously. What’s wrong with your face, Earp? You look like you’re having a hernia.”

“I swear, I wish Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale!” Said an angry Cordelia from across the courtyard. Little did she know the power of those words.

Moments later, the world went black.

.o0o. END CHAPTER 4 .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some weird copy/paste errors with the Rich Text, so I had to do a long manual workaround. Please let me know if you find any errors, as it was an painstaking process and I may have overlooked something simple like a paragraph break! I also learned how to turn off comment moderation. Huzzah!
> 
> Believe it or not, the original outline of this story didn't contain any relationships. But when I put fingers to the keyboard, things wrote themselves as they sometimes do. My Buffy canon, like many if not most in the fandom, interpreted Faith as a lesbian who was unable to capture Buffy's attention. When this AU threw another girl Faith's age able to relate to her on several counts of a darker past, abandonment and self-esteem issues, a strong personality, and a wild side, the more I wrote the more they seemed to gravitate towards each other. It felt inevitable. 
> 
> On Wynonna Earp, I love the current alternative and casual relationship style they've given Wynonna with Doc and Dolls. It has a distinctly polyamorous feel. While I adore fanfics that write Wynonna as pansexual, it seems to me that at 27+ years of age, she settled into decidedly hetero-normative attractions excluding this particular label. But something about her disposition always left me thinking that she played a wider field in her younger years thennarrowed down her preferences as she's aged. With that in mind, since I've written Wynonna as a 17/18 year old, a femslash relationship was fair game.
> 
> BtVS Episode References: "Revelations", "Lover's Walk", and "The Wish"


	5. The Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an alternate universe, vampires run rampant across Sunnydale's Hellmouth. Vamp-nonna whets her appetite with human blood and goes on a cross-continental rampage with hopes of turning Waverly into a weapon of the dead. Will anyone make it out of this nightmare alive?

People were slaughtered daily in the street. A town-imposed curfew tried to keep the citizenry safe behind the threshold of their homes, but it did little to stop the despair which gnawed at their hearts. A brave few attempted to escape the hell-stricken town, but mostly they failed. At night the vampires took them easily. In the light of day, turncoat human familiars turned over their own kind. Some of these traitors were bad to the bone and rejoiced in their wickedness. But most sacrificed others as a barter for the lives of their families.

Be careful what you wish for. A town without Buffy Summers was dark and filled with terrors.

Cordelia struggled against her fiendish captor, biting his cold, dead hand in an attempt to free herself. His partner in crime tossed away the keys to the cage, and the prisoner slammed against his metal prison. No one was coming to rescue them.

“So… you’re a Watcher, huh?” Xander grinned at Giles and bared his fiendish fangs. Willow gazed at Xander and his prize hungrily. She rumbled in that awful, beastly language of predators while her eyes drank Cordelia in. Willow snatched her left wrist. Xander grabbed her right. “Watch this.”

But before either of them could steal a taste, the library doors swung open with a bang.

“You better save some for me.” Said the newcomer. Xander peeled Cordelia’s head to the side, exposing her bare throat.

“For you, beautiful? Only the best part.” Two plus one sets of fangs greedily plunged into Cordelia’s helpless neck, and the terrible trio set about consuming her. Her eyes went glassy with shock and her screams died in her throat. Giles pounded against the confines of the cage and yelled helplessly. His struggles only served to thrill the vampires and heighten their savagery.

Feeling drunk off the heady flow, Wynonna pulled at the back of Xander’s head. She kissed him savagely, smearing warm blood on his lips, and relished in the feel of Willow’s arm wrapped tightly around her. With a commanding stare, she shoved Xander back to his feed and lavished affection on her second companion. Cordelia slackened and slumped, still warm in the cold embrace of death.

“Good girl.” Whispered the brunette, curling a lock of red hair around her fingers. She giggled.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

The three vampires stumbled towards the Bronze. Their balance was somewhat impaired by the delicious drunkard they feasted on a few alleys down. What was once a nightclub brimming with life was now a feeding ground for the walking dead. Vampires held humans victims there against their will to quench their insatiable thirst for blood and malevolence. The lucky ones died in a single feed. Most suffered for days, sometimes weeks.

Once in a blue moon, one of these humans was selected to join the demons. In the moments leading up to her immortal rebirth, the human Wynonna Earp struggled fiercely against the ravenous beasts. In one such maddened rage, she broke a vampire’s tooth clean in half while bound and gagged. This attracted the attention of the Master himself. Her attitude of spiteful disgust in the face of unspeakable evil intrigued him. As the nights passed and she neared the end of her strength, he bid his underlings stand aside. He would turn this one himself.

He drained her for the turning with a bloody kiss. Then he cut himself and bade her drink. In her final act of defiance, he felt her attempt to breath instead of swallow. Her willingness to choke to death was commendable. But in this world, the Master always had his way.

Wynonna was paler, wilder, and crueler in death. Her new world view lacked restraint, aside from the many straps that adorned her leather clothes (her motorcycle boots in life served as an inspiration for her fashion in the afterlife). She swaggered into the Bronze with her loyal companions hanging off each arm, and the Master sighed in satisfaction. Wynonna was truly one of his greatest masterpieces.

“Welcome home, my children.” He beckoned from his makeshift throne. “How was the hunt? Did you kill the girl looking for the Slayer?”

“The deed is done.” Xander said, crooning into Wynonna’s neck. “It was too easy.”

“I felt cheap.” Said Willow, flopping into a nearby chair. “Can… can I play with the puppy?” She asked, sticking out a pouty lip. The Master waved her off and she cackled with glee. Willow leapt from her chair towards the torture chambers with Xander and Wynonna in hot pursuit. They loved watching Willow get carried away with the prisoners. What new tortures would she imagine today? Xander held the door open, but before she could exit, the Master requested Wynonna stay by his side. Wynonna swatted Xander’s bum and promised she would join them soon.

“My dear, you look positively… on top of the world!”

“Mmm, more like high as a kite.” She sighed, slumping against her sire’s feet haphazardly. She nuzzled his leg like a small child playing affectionately with her father. “That last one had more than alcohol in his system... s’probably ecstasy.” The Master chuckled and ruffled her hair.

“Would tell me a story? You know the one I like.” He smiled with his red stained lips.

As a human those stories haunted her. Now a demon herself, Wynonna launched into her tales of revenants and death with gusto. She spoke of them fondly as one does of old friends. She reminisced about the night she killed Ward. Wynonna vaguely recalled having conflicted opinions about the event in life, but Wynonna 2.0 firmly believed the coward deserved to die. He was weak and tried making deals with people outside of his league.

“Robert, wasn’t it?” Wynonna nodded. The floor felt like pudding beneath her, and she curled her hands around her sire’s leg to keep from sinking into its delicious, pudding-y embrace. Robert was a madman who knew many monsters. From beneath the floorboards she eavesdropped on his crazed brilliance. “I like the sound of this Robert. He sounds like an excellent ‘networking’ opportunity, as the humans say. Where is he from again?”

“Purgatory,” Wynonna savored the mouthfeel of the words, “inside the Ghost River Triangle.”

“Ah yes, the place between. It’s no Hellmouth, I’ve heard, but it sounds like a delightful vacation spot.”

“S’cold though…” Why were the patterns on the ceiling so suddenly entrancing? The Master tilted her head back even more and looked into her eyes. The young vampire’s pupils were dilated from the illicit substance coursing through her.

“I would like to go to this Purgatory someday. Talk with these revenants of yours. Do you think they would join us in our quest to enslave the human race? One can never have too many minions.” Humans were funny, Wynonna thought. How did such miserable creatures taste so incredible? Enslaving them like cattle was the only thing that made sense.

“Do you know who I want to enslave?” Wynonna said eagerly, spinning around to kneel on her knees. One corner of her mouth curled in a mischievous smirk. “My sister. She would make us very proud.” The Master leaned forward, entertaining his new favorite vamp-ling.

“How so?” He traced a pallid finger down the side of her cheek and watched her revel under his touch. In her heightened state, every moment of physical contact was a unique experience unlike any other.

“Mama told me… she’s not like us.” Excitement glinted in the blacks of her eyes. “There was a night when a stranger brought her home, soaked through to the bone. I knew him… it was Robert. In my heart, I know she’s one of them. A hybrid! Can you imagine what she could do if she turned?” Her sire hung on every word. “No stake, holy water, or beheading could end her, because only one thing kills revenants. But there is no one left in this world who can wield it. That makes her…”

“Unstoppable.” He finished in awe. A vampire that couldn’t be staked? Couldn’t die the final death? A vampire that, when cut down in the fray of battle, would rematerialize into existence as whole and unmarked as the day they turned? The Master’s imagination ran wild. Such a vampire could be used to sire others… perhaps her gift could be passed on to others through the turning. Was an unkillable legion possible?

“Bless you, my child.” The Master clasped his hands about her head and pulled her into his chest. She pooled into his arms and relished his embrace. “When I first saw you, I knew you were special. Full of violent brilliance!” He clasped her shoulders. “You must go as soon as possible. There is not a moment to waste.”

“Come with us.” She teased, imagining the chaos he could leave in his wake.

“No, you must go in my stead. The deadline for the factory fast approaches, and I must oversee the work. Take Willow and Xander and spare no one who gets in your way. Bring me this sister of yours, and we will make her ours.” He ended in a whisper.

On a street several blocks away from the Bronze sat an old van in desperate need of a tune up. The overworked engine idled in place, for an ambush could come at any moment. Oz ripped off his headset and turned to his companion Larry Blaisdell in the passenger seat.

“What did you hear?” Larry asked, his mouth dry with anxiety. Oz stared at him vacantly, digesting the information he discovered through the bug planted in the Bronze’s balcony. He threw the headset at Larry and put the van into drive. This information was time sensitive and needed to be passed on to Giles, fast.

“Nothing good.”

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Border Services Officer Nathan Tremblay leaned against a tiny, grey shack in desperate need of a new coat of paint. It was one of 119 land border checkpoints in the Canada Border Service Agency. The silence was broken only by slow drags on his cigarette. The grey puffs of smoke were his constant companions. Tremblay graduated from the CBSA’s Officer Induction Training Program three months ago and was already bored on the job. After an hour drumming his fingernails on the countertop, a half hour picking at his nails, and an hour of existential crisis, he found himself craving the mind numbing and repetitive work that was his supposed career.

The checkpoint to which he was assigned was rarely used by travelers. This particular throughway passed by an occasional trucker pit stop and ultimately ended in a town by the name of Purgatory. If the town’s name was any indicator, Purgatory didn’t attract a plethora of visitors. Just the occasional cosplaying Wyatt Earp fan.

Tremblay’s local superiors, the Chief of Operations and Superintendent, were straight up bad employees. The CBSA’s constant under-staffing problems led to many vacancies in must-fill positions. This provided under-performers with ample opportunity to move up in the ranks. Tonight the two were in true form. CBSA Inspection Points were always to operate ‘Doubled Up’, a protocol wherein no officer was to operate the checkpoint alone. Ever. In complete disregard to this protocol, his superiors took Officer Weaver on a late night snack run and left Officer Tremblay to man the Primary Inspection checkpoint all by his lonesome.

Far off in the distance, twin lights popped out of the dark signaling a rare nighttime traveler. Tremblay stamped out his cigarette and shuffled into his guard shack. The car crunched to a halt in front of the shack and rolled down the driver’s side window. A beautiful, pale girl dressed in skin tight, black leather smiled a brilliant smile that flashed in the dark.

“We’re, ah, driving here. Could you move that?” The girl wiggled her finger at the red and white striped boom barrier. “Wouldn’t want to scratch the paint.”

“I’ll need identification, and a declaration of any goods you’re transporting, please.” Yawned Tremblay extending a clipboard. The driver flipped her hair over her shoulder and clipped a 50 dollar bill to the clipboard.

“Here’s a $50, but if I were being honest I’d declare myself as waaay more than that.” Tremblay looked at the driver in confusion as she sniggered with the teenage boy in the passenger seat. Were they anemic? They both appeared terribly pale.

“Very funny. Identification. From both of you.” A sudden bang erupted behind Tremblay and he jumped in surprise. He spun around and met the half-lidded eyes of a red-haired girl. She ceased her beatings and stared at him peculiarly through the dirty glass. Tremblay sputtered, and tried to regain his composure. Where had she come from?

“Ma’am, p-please return to your vehicle!” The mystery girl sauntered around the shack, never taking her eyes off him. Was it his imagination, or did she growl at him? She trailed the tip of her finger along the window, leaving a single clean streak in its wake. Instead of entering the car, she leaned against the hood. Her posture was suggestively indifferent as though daring him to order her again.

“You have one job, so are you gonna open this gate or what?” The driver asked impatiently from her seat. Tremblay’s mind raced as he attempted to recall a training scenario that would tell him what to do. Cigarettes weren’t the only thing he smoked that night, and his mind was hazy with drug-induced fog. In his quest to ‘take the edge off’, he no longer had an edge at all. He had gone from steel knife to plastic spoon.

“For fuck’s sake! Xander, show this moron how to do his job, hmm?” The dark haired boy exited the car at once and set to the boom bar with single minded intention. He gripped the barrier in both hands and wrenched. The gears holding the counterbalance in place resisted, but were no match for the unnatural strength he possessed. They screeched in protest but yielded to his hands, the aluminum bending under the strain. The boy laughed joyfully as he exercised his strength, and something inhuman erupted from his face.

Tremblay’s hands trembled. He didn’t remember yelling at the top of his lungs. He didn’t remember pulling his firearm. He didn’t remember pulling the trigger. How many shots fired? He pulled the trigger again, but the gun clicked on empty. All three had lunged at him. What else was he to do? He held his ground. Anyone else would have done the same.

Three bodies lay collapsed in the street. He knew he needed to radio this in immediately, but he needed to be sure. Needed to be sure they were dead. He held his now empty firearm between him and the bodies. Perhaps it would protect him if he believed hard enough. Adrenaline pumped through his ears and he feared his heart might explode. Upon nearing the first body, he tapped it with the toe of his boot. Nothing.

Horrified relief overtook him at the slackness of the body. Tremblay succumbed to shaking that had nothing to do with the temperature. Three people, practically children, were dead by his hand. Between the complete disregard of proper Inspection Point manning protocols, the use of excessive force, and intoxicants surging through his blood, things looked bad for Border Officer Tremblay. Perhaps he would have lived to face the consequences if he had simply been derelict in his duties and allowed the troublesome trio through the gate.

One moment his eyes scanned the walls frantically for the right number on his pyramid recall roster, and the next all he saw was black pavement. Vice-like hands pinned him to the ground and he scrabbled uselessly against their clutches.

“Plot twist, we’re already dead!”

Nobody human heard Tremblay scream.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Levi fidgeted uncomfortably. The chill numbed his toes, but the heat radiating off his pitch soaked torch threatened to blister the skin of his face. He and a half dozen other revenants stood in a grassy field to bear solemn witness to their leader’s grief. Bobo stood several dozen paces away, his head bowed and his fur-covered shoulders bristling in the night winds. Their leader’s particular blend of anger and despair was a volatile cocktail. His cronies knew any unwarranted comment could result in the removal of their soft bits (namely the tongue, eyes, ears, or balls), so they waited quietly.

Bobo pressed his hands together in a tiny temple, nudging his lips with the tips of his fingers. It looked like he was praying, but it was a gesture of habit. Not faith. Once upon a time he believed in God, but in his many lifetimes only devils came in answer to his prayers.

When Maldito collapsed, he relied heavily on his other connections in New Orleans, Cleveland, and Sunnydale. Over the past two years, these cities and their resources were taken from him. The troublesome Black Badge Agency closed down all communications and travel from New Orleans in response to a plague of reanimated corpses. A group of supernatural bounty hunters clamped down on Cleveland’s demonic activity. The opening of the Hellmouth in Sunnydale was the last nail in the coffin. Vampires swarmed the city, eliminated all other supernatural competitors, and declared their dominance. Bobo’s last artery was severed.

Her death was slow. Painful. He bore witness to her suffering day by day. He held her hand as disease tore her asunder. He could not save her, nor could he die by her side. When the light flickered out of Willa’s eyes, he swore he would balance the scales and exact justice the only way he knew how. Bobo turned to face his motley crew, his eyes smoldering with the hellfire that perforated each of their souls.

“Burn it down.” He commanded.

The revenants stepped forward and set their torches to the roots of the great tree, already soaked in gasoline. The bark crackled and flared to life in a great column of fire. Birds hoping to rest in the eaves of the treehouse fled the plumes of smoke and heat, squawking in terror. Willa’s soul, exorcised by fire, flew on the backs of those winged creatures. She looked back and watched as the love of her life left for war.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

“I’m hungry!” Willow complained loudly from the backseat.

“Baby, we just ate.” Xander chastened.

“One meat-sack between the three of us is hardly dinner.” She grumbled. Her fingers fiddled with a hole in the shoulder of her shirt. Although immune to the effects of bullets, they still left her shirt in shambles which was almost worse. The wounded corpse-flesh beneath was already partially closed, but further feedings would accelerate the healing process.

“Give me ten minutes, Will. I promise we’ll make happy hour.” Wynonna reached back and squeezed Willow’s knee sympathetically. She let her foot press deeper and watched the speedometer increase. The road trip north had been long and the killings few. She was also famished.

By the time the vampires reached Shorty’s, the town’s premier establishment was in full swing. Patrons spilled out the front door of the establishment to escape the suffocating press of warm bodies and stale air. When their car rolled up to the front, several rowdy ranch hands whistled at the beautiful strangers who leaned out the window. A quick flash of skin and an offer to ‘take them out’ was all the convincing they needed, and two hopped eagerly into the car. Through no fault of their own, both men misunderstood the implications of ‘take-out’. The tinted windows rolled shut. The car took off down Main Street, and the engine’s roar drowned out the hideous sound of their necks snapping in half.

“Yergh, there’s something wrong with this one!” Xander gagged, spitting the brackish blood distastefully onto the floor. “He’s spoiled!”

“What do you mean spoiled?” Willow asked, tearing away from her kill.

“I mean spoiled!” Xander said, pushing the body away from him. “He’s disgusting. Tastes like ass. Actually I’d prefer ass.” Wynonna nibbled the ranch-hand’s wrist and recoiled. Xander was right, something in the man’s blood tasted horrible. As she dropped his arm, the ranch-hand’s neck made a strange crunching sound. The vampires watched him curiously. His eyes opened wide with shock and burned a deep, coal red. He spurted a string of profanities and began to flail about.

“Ah shit, I should have known we’d pick up a goddamn rev-head.” Wynonna cursed. “Get him out of here.”

Xander opened his door and heaved the revenant out of the car ‘with pleasure’ and they sped away. It was then that Wynonna took notice of the flashing red and blue beacon lights in her rearview mirror. Just her luck.

Several kilometers back, they unwittingly crossed the radar path of an officer on patrol. Sheriff Nedley clocked them at 102kph in a 50kph. Now in hot pursuit, he squinted through the dark at the car in an attempt to discern its make and model. Californian plates? These folks were not locals. His suspicions skyrocketed when he witnessed the speeding vehicle’s passenger door swing open. Something large tumbled out of the car and disappeared into the night.

The black car slowed, and Nedley steeled himself for an altercation. Whatever had fallen out of the car was bad news, and whomever threw it out was badder. He had been at this business a long time. As the speeding fiends finally began to slow, he started running through all the possible scenarios in his head.

But for all his preparation to face an unknown danger, he was not quite prepared for something familiar. When the Sheriff laid eyes upon the wily eyes of one Wynonna Earp, frustration clogged his throat. Nedley dropped his clipboard to his side and sighed heavily, pawing the sides of his scruff between his thumb and pointer finger.

“What’re you doin’ back here, Wynonna? And don’t give me some bullshit excuse.” According to county records, Wynonna was supposed to be getting her act together with her adoptive American family. She made it extremely clear to anyone who would listen, and especially to those who refused to listen, that she would never come return to Purgatory of her own free will. If she were in town visiting for any reason, he knew the McCreadys would have given the department a heads up.

Wynonna was dead silent. The hairs prickled on the back of his hands as the girl with a mouthy reputation leered at him, uncharacteristically silent. Normally, she already would have told him to boil his hat or shave the roadkill off his face. Something was wrong. The Sheriff quickly scanned the car’s other passengers. Two men and one girl, clearly a hooker. The man in the backseat lay passed out against the car door while the younger man with thick, bushy eyebrows in the front seat tapped his fingers impatiently against his armrest. The hooker in the backseat eyed him suggestively. Typical company for an Earp with a reputation. He returned his attention to the driver with the intention of berating her reckless driving, but dropped his clipboard with a clatter. Nedley staggered back, drew his sidearm, and aimed point-blank at the nightmarish features which surrounded hauntingly yellow eyes.

“Oh Nedley, I know you know better. Pull the trigger, and I’ll pull your eyes out through your mouth.”

“What… have they done to you?” Nedley growled, inching away from the car cautiously. Back when Purgatory hosted the circuit finals for the DRA (Demonic Rodeo Association), Nedley encountered his fair share of vampires. Two brothers from Abilene, Texas, Lyle and Tector Gorch, ruled that scene back in the day. Lyle and Tector had a proclivity for torture, and he was intimately familiar with the cruelties those two inflicted on his community. One day, enough was enough.

The Purgatory Sheriff’s Department hired a special government task force to help suppress and eradicate the vampire menace. The task force expeditiously employed severe force to smoke the creatures out of hiding, and for it the good Sheriff paid a steep price. The operation could only be afforded if PSD accepted massive budgetary restrictions, from which the department still suffered greatly. Several were vampires were wily enough to slip through the cracks, but they also had the wits to make themselves scarce. Vampires of this sort had not been seen openly walking the streets of Purgatory for the past six years.

Now three stared at him like a starving man ogles a five course meal. The fourth occupant was dead, Nedley could see that now, and he prayed the poor sap who fell from the car was in better shape. (Spoilers, the revenant survived.) The dead thing that wore Wynonna’s skin snapped her sharpened teeth at the Sheriff mockingly. He did not flinch. One slow step at a time, Nedley edged away. Quick movements would incite a chase. Since the days of the eradication, he no longer carried anti-vampire accoutrements. He didn’t stand a chance against three, especially one that so especially despised him in life. If he allowed them this reprieve, perhaps he could live to fight another day.

“Come ooon. We could take him.” Xander moaned. “The others weren’t any fun. He could be a real workout.”

Wynonna glanced down at the dashboard clock. Chasing down the Sheriff would push their schedule dangerously to the right, and they risked not finding shelter before daylight. With a glance in her rearview mirror, Wynonna threw the car into drive. “As tempting as it is, we have somewhere we need to be.”

Nedley cautiously opened the door to his cruiser, keeping a steady watch on his possible attackers. Throughout the incident, he kept his emotions in check and his head level as an experienced professional should. But as the car started driving away, each heartbeat hammered in his chest as if it were his last. Not because he feared for his life, but because his intuition began piecing together a terrible train of thought.

He dialed a number into his personal cellphone. It rang for an eternity. When it went to voicemail, he called again. And again. On the fourth go-around, an irate voice asked him if he had ‘lost his damn mind’ and if he ‘knew what time it was.’

“Get everyone out of the house.” Nedley ordered. “You’re all in danger.”

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Curtis threw the covers off Waverly’s bed and heaved her into his arms like she weighed little more than a sack of feathers. The girl’s eyes were groggy with sleep. She couldn’t understand what was going on or why they had pulled her out of bed in the dead of night. Her head bobbed as Curtis galloped down the stairs with Gus in close pursuit. Unintelligible mumbles spilled out of her mouth, but she couldn’t manage a coherent sentence.

Bright lights glanced into the living room signaling a car’s approach. Curtis yanked open the side door and all but threw Waverly into Gus’s arms. He stared knowingly at his wife and seemed to communicate something before slipping something onto his hands. Gus lacked Curtis’s size and quickly set Waverly on her feet. Her left hand grabbed Waverly’s and her right clenched a double barreled shotgun. The gun metal glinted in the moonlight and seemed to shock Waverly into alertness. Pebbles and tiny sticks dug into the bottoms of her bare feet and she yelped in pain.

“We’ve gotta run darlin’!” Gus said in hushed urgency, already picking up speed.

“Aunt Gus, w-what’s going on?” She cast a look over her shoulder and saw three vehicles speeding up the long, unpaved driveway. The silhouette of her uncle cut a black outline against the headlights as he walked down the porch steps. The strangeness of it all ignited a fear in her belly that overcame the pains in her feet.

“Nevermind that! Toolshed, go!” The urgency in Gus’s voice spurred Waverly to run faster. Their flannels and night-robes and oversized tee-shirts billowed out behind them as Waverly leapt over several squash while Gus cut through the tomatoes. They closed the distance between them and the little white and green shed at the edge of the vegetable gardens, and Gus flung open the door. She shoved the shotgun into Waverly’s hands, and ordered her to watch the door. Dry mouthed and shaking, Waverly swung the barrel back to the entrance while Gus grunted and began heaving feed bags against the far wall of the shed.

Visions of broken glass and blood curdling screams assaulted Waverly from nightmares she struggled to move past. She felt like she would choke on the dryness in her throat. Her guts clenched in revulsion at the memories of horrible monsters in the night as she realized they were here once more.

“Oh no…” She breathed hoarsely as another two pairs of headlights peeled off the main road in the distance and vectored towards the house at an alarming speed. “No, no, no, **no!** ” Little Waverly Earp drew the shotgun against her shoulder like she had done it a million times before. “ **Not** this time!”

With the feedbags out of the way, Gus set to prying open the small trapdoor set into the floor. She plucked a small, iron key from the front pocket of her robe and whispered a few words against its metallic surface. The metal glimmered beneath her lips, and a tiny keyhole in the otherwise seamless concrete shimmered in response. As Gus turned the key inside the bizarre lock, the first car screeched and swerved to a stop in front of the porch. Waverly caught only a glimpse of the first driver before Gus dragged Waverly into the secret space beneath the toolshed.

The driver exited the car and slammed the door. Curtis furrowed his eyes and slowly tightened the straps of his gloves. He flexed his hands and felt his knuckle tendons ripple inside the familiar leather. It had been a long time since these gloves made contact with anything other than farm equipment and hay bales. While his fists ached in anticipation of a fight, the occupants of the vehicle gave him pause. He was expecting to do battle with three vampires, one of which wore an all too familiar face. But there was only one occupant in this car and she couldn’t possibly be a vampire. Her face was scarred, her fatigues worn, and a thick cross dangled heavily about her neck. She looked him square in the eye and asked, “Want to tell me what I’m doing here? Giles sent me.”

“I don’t know any Giles, but if that cross of yours is any indication, I could damn well use your help right about now.” More headlights turned into the driveway, and she sensed the danger approaching. The woman unloaded a crossbow and slung a belt full of stakes across her chest. She spun on her heel and marched towards her new ally, holding out a hand. They met in a brief handshake, and Curtis sensed incredible strength radiating through her grip.

Both vehicles skidded to a halt, spraying dirt and dust into the air. From the left car emerged a band of ruffians led by one Bobo Del Rey. Curtis had little to say about the menace, and none of it was good. Bobo held his key fob above his head in dramatic fashion and clicked the lock button twice. Satisfied that his vehicle was properly locked, he chucked the keys into the grass bordering the driveway. He had no plans to retrieve them.

Moments later the right car emptied, and Curtis’s stomach lurched. Each word the Sheriff relayed over the phone was hideously clear, but still… He hoped he had misunderstood. He could never understand his wife’s confrontational relationship with Wynonna, as he always carried a soft spot for her. Now seeing Wynonna’s face twisted into something hideous, that soft spot died and left behind a bitter hole.

“Awful late fer company.” Called Curtis from the porch, hoping to draw their attention onto him and away from the shed.

Bobo turned and observed the additional parties suspiciously. “Yes, too much company. I couldn’t agree more. But where oh where is the other one, McCready?”

“Let’s thin the herd a bit, shall we?” Wynonna menaced while her vampire companions drew their fangs and growled angrily.  The Slayer snorted in disgust. Without blinking, she launched a crossbolt at the closest man in Bobo’s entourage. The revenant fell gurgling, transfixed by the bolt in his throat, and all Hell broke loose.

Curtis and Buffy faced the raging hellspawn with quiet dignity. Curtis launched himself into the fray while the Slayer lay cover fire with her crossbow. One unlucky revenant found his forward momentum stopped by a bolt plunging through his foot, pinning him in place. Xander was fastest and first to meet Curtis’s fists. Savage delight turned to shock when the gruff man sent him sprawling several meters with a fierce blow. The gloves on his hands vibrated with energy and enhanced his strikes tenfold.

Undeterred by the display of strength, another revenant barreled towards Curtis. Curtis sank into a wrestler’s crouch and braced his hands forward to meet his opponent. Like an ice skater’s lift gone horribly wrong, the demon went flying over Curtis’s backside like the bales of hay he tossed earlier. The sorry creature crashed into the Slayer who impaled him upon a cruel spike of wood.

Buffy twisted the skewer deeper into the kabob-ed revenant and he howled in agony. She grimaced, realizing a stake wouldn’t kill these demons. Pulling a long blade from her belt she beheaded the revenant with a practiced slice. Sludgy, brown blood spurted across her face, marking her with undead warpaint. Undeterred, she charged at her next target.

Wynonna and Bobo shared similar intentions of sidestepping the fray, their true targets hidden from sight. But the chaos roared and they stumbled over each other. Neither knew the house was empty, and they scrambled to beat each other to the front door. They quickly came to blows. Bobo’s fingers found purchase in the crevices of her face and Wynonna’s fingers clamped down in the furry collar of his coat. Her fangs sunk into his wrist and he bellowed in anger. He tossed aggressively but could not shake the vampire’s hold. A swift blow to his knee sent the two of them tumbling.

Bobo throttled her with little effect, as Wynonna no longer had breath. She savagely struck his shoulder, dislocating the joint. He collapsed towards her, and she smashed her skull into his. The two struggled in a death grip, mere inches from each other. Recognition dawned on him.

“Well, well, well…” he gasped heavily, “you’re taller than I remember. Two Earp sisters now dead and gone.” His irises shook with madness.

“Is that it? You’ve come for the last one?” Wynonna spat. “Well, Waverly’s ALL mine! You hear me? She’ll never be yours, I’m her ticket out of this dump.”

“She may leave anytime she wishes. Even you, a dead shade… but us?” Embroiled as they were in their struggle, neither noticed the figure towering over them. The Slayer hoisted a wooden baluster from the porch railing overhead.

“Still trapped! Round and round we g-.” Buffy plunged the baluster down. Her expression was as emotionless as the gravity that helped serve the death blow. Wynonna’s piercing scream cut through Bobo’s strangled screams. The self-proclaimed revenant king, glassy eyed and drooling, watched the dead heir begin to crumble to dust. As the physical world dissolved around her, she cursed her failure.

At that very moment, many miles away, one particularly persistent librarian got his hands on the demon Anyanka’s pendant. He prayed the other world existed and was not so horrifying, grabbed the nearest object he could find, and executed a shattering blow. Green energy burst from the crushed gem and flooded to all the corners of the alternate universe. This time the world flashed in a blaze of white light, and when it faded, Wynonna found herself standing in the courtyard of Sunnydale High with a gaggle of vapid girls ogling her like a macabre piece of art.

“…and I wish Xander Harris never again knows the touch of a woman. And that Willow wakes up tomorrow covered in monkey hair.” Wynonna winced as Cordelia Chase’s complaints penetrated her skull. Her head ached with the effects of a fierce hangover, and for the life of her she could not remember what she was doing. Everything felt… fuzzy. Her eyes danced back and forth between Harmony and her goonies, trying to pull it together.

“Stare any longer, and I’ll start charging. Show’s not free people.” She grumbled and shoved past the harpies. Perhaps it was caffeine withdrawals. After all, she had skipped her morning coffee today.

.o0o. END CHAPTER 5 .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably my favorite chapter to write. I did my best to channel Goo-nonna into Vamp-nonna, and I think the results speak for themselves!
> 
> BtVS Episode References: "The Wish"


	6. Child, From Whose Eyes the Witchery is Shining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly provides Wynonna with some long-distance help on a 'school project', and can hardly believe her eyes at the results! A whole new world is revealed to the youngest Earp sister as she sets aside 'A Hidden History of Purgatory' and dives into the mysterious pages of 'Et Clavicula Salomonis'.

“Sorry for taking so long, Aunt Gus!” Little Waverly Earp apologized breathlessly as she used the tip of her shoe to catch the handle of the car door. Her hands balanced an enormous stack of books from the Purgatory Public Library. Gus chuckled, impressed at the sheer volume of volumes Waverly had acquired. That girl would have a pHD or two under her belt someday.

Getting into the car took some impressive acrobatics, but soon enough Waverly got herself settled and they were on their way. “Why don’t you ever come in with me?” She chirped, already paging through an old brown book.

Gus huffed and wrung the steering wheel. “That old bat, Mrs. Popovich, insists that your Uncle owes a hefty fine on a book he checked out years ago. I returned the darn thing myself, but she won’t let it go! I’ll be shot and stuffed before I give her so much as a nickel.” Waverly giggled at Gus’s obstinacy. “So, what’d you check out this time? You’ve got quite the haul.”

Waverly’s haul included ‘Wort für Wort: New Advanced German Vocabulary’ and ‘Classical Latin: An Introductory Course’. Her passion for languages was remarkable, but paled in comparison to her appetite for local historical happenings. ‘A Hidden History of Purgatory’ and ‘Wanted: the Great Earp Controversy of 1887’ had been on her to-read list for months.

She wanted to start devouring these books immediately, but for now, for a very different kind of book required her attention.

Waverly eagerly bounded up the stairs and shut the door to her room. She plopped down on her bed, stacked ‘Wort für Wort’ on top of ‘Hidden Histories’, and propped her phone upright against the spines. As the video call connected, Waverly cracked open a cryptic, old tome by the name of ‘Et Clavicula Salomonis’.

“S'up, baby girl?” The tinny sound of Wynonna’s voice sparked a twinkle in Waverly’s eye.

“What’s up? I think I should be asking that question.” She responded inquisitively. “I got that book you wanted.” She waved it in front of the tiny camera.

“Whoa, so that’s really an 18th century edition? It’s in amazing shape!” Another girl joined Wynonna on screen, all red hair and hazel eyes. Waverly recognized Willow from several photos Wynonna had posted of her new friends and their adventures in Sunnydale.

“Yeah, it is! Our library has some really old historical texts, and all sorts of weird things. Normally you need special permissions to check something out that’s this old, but Mrs. Popovich likes me and made an exception.” She proclaimed proudly. “But I’m still confused. Why did you need me to get this again?”

“We are-eeer, doing a history project on ancient cultures!” Waverly recognized that tone. She knew her sister wasn’t being honest. “Yeah! And for our presentation, Willow and I are going to re-enact one of the rituals from this book. Together. For the class.” Waverly quirked an eyebrow. Sure she was.

“The thing is, we have a newer version than that one you have there, and I think something got goofed up in the translation. Wynonna’s told me you have a knack for languages?”

“Well, she’s not wrong.” Waverly rubbed the back of her neck, feeling a rush of blood flush her face at the indirect compliment. From her very first French lesson, she had fallen in love with foreign tongues. So far she had dabbled in French, German, Latin, Portuguese, and even picked up Elvish after her first read through of Lord of the Rings (Wynonna never let her live that down).

Willow guided her to the proper section for their ‘presentation’, and Waverly set to work transcribing the raw passage. As she began to reference her Latin textbook, Willow disappeared out of the left side of the frame while Wynonna kept Waverly company. Waverly could hear clinks and clacks, followed by a crash and loud squeaking. Whatever Willow was doing, it made a lot of noise. Then, Wynonna turned and handed over a… mortal and pestle?

Sensing Waverly’s confusion, Wynonna explained, “It’s for guacamole, we’ve got chips. These Californians are super into avocados. Am I right?”

“You are so weird.” Waverly rolled her eyes. “and what is that squeaking I keep hearing?”

“Uh, my pet rat!” Willow called from off screen. “Yup, her name’s Amy. Just got her a few weeks ago, and she’s a super good rat! Aren’t chu’ baby?” Not a second later, Willow yelped in pain.

“Amy bit her.” Wynonna whispered, struggling to contain her laughter.

After a few minutes, the text yielded itself unto the young scholar. It was a peculiar passage, to say the least. She relayed it to Wynonna who scribbled it down on a notepad. “Thanks, Waves. Now hold on just a minute, we’re going to… dry run! Yeah, we’re going to dry run our presentation to make sure it makes sense. Don’t go anywhere in case I didn’t write the words right. Back in a jiff.”

Just as Wynonna exited stage left, she tilted the screen to the right and left Waverly staring at a lava lamp sitting on Willow’s dresser. Who even owned lava lamps anymore? Waverly huffed indignantly. Typical Wynonna. Why video call her if she didn’t even see what she was doing? She might as well have hung up and called her back!

“We conjure anew,” they began to recite. Waverly couldn’t help but lean forward, as if she could pass through the tiny screen and see round the corner. Curiosity gnawed at her insides. This whole ‘project’ screamed ridiculous. But bizarre as it seemed, Waverly couldn’t help but want in.

The two continued, “in whatsoever part of the world ye may be, and command ye absolutely by the virtues of Hazor, Emeth, Yaii, and Arachnitha. Come quickly and without any delay into our presence.” Waverly craned in even further, but there was nothing to hear but silence.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Wynonna shouted suddenly over Willow’s screams. The girls sprung back into view, and the phone fell from its perch. The tiny world spun over and over and Waverly called out to them, concerned and confused, but they did not hear her over. Then Waverly saw what had their full and undivided attention.

Wynonna and Willow stood on top of a dresser on their tiptoes. Willow tore a picture off the wall and in front of her like a shield, while Wynonna jabbed the lava lamp like a spear at the world’s largest, hairiest, and most hideous spider. Thousands of miles away, Waverly gagged and jumped back from the phone like the spider had crawled out of the phone and into her bedroom. She pressed against the wall, but could not tear her eyes away from her sister yelling “Back, back!” at the fat, spindly fiend.

Where had such a monstrosity come from? Perhaps it was an invasive breed from Australia? Waverly had heard of horrible creatures that lived in Australia, so a cranium sized spider hardly seemed a stretch of the imagination. It jumped and hissed at the girls, and Willow batted the creature to the ground with the picture frame.

“Ooooh god! Wrong again.” Willow wailed in misery, “I think Arachnitha is a spider goddess, and calling on her turned Amy into one!”

The spider bounced on the ground and landed stunned on its side. Willow interlaced her fingers, forming a diamond between her pinkies and thumbs, and locked her arms out in front of her. “Goddess of creatures, great and small, I conjure thee to withdraw!” A puff of dark smoke erupted from where the spider lay. When the smoke cleared, all that was left was a tiny brown rat.

Waverly sat in stunned silence.

The tiny brown rat wobbled on its little pink feet like a drunk at three in the morning, then scurried off-screen. Willow awkwardly clambered down from the dresser and chased after the little critter while apologizing profusely for swatting it with a picture frame. Wynonna picked up the phone, cursing when she realized the camera had caught the entire ordeal.

“You didn’t see any of that.”

“Like hell I didn’t!” Waverly knew exactly what she saw. “Wynonna, what the frick-frack was that?”

“Frick-frack? Come-on Waves, you’re getting a bit too old to...”

“Don’t change the subject.” Waverly said sternly. “First, you ask me to check out an old, crazy book from the library. Then I help you with your ‘presentation’,” she mocked her sister with air quotes, “and next thing I know you and your friend go all Harry Potter and transfigure a massive spider into a rat.”

Even after all the therapy, after all the adults that helped Waverly rewrite the tragic narrative of her childhood, deep down she had still believed in the supernatural. It was a reality like the air she breathed. But she still struggled to get the words out. “Was that… a demon?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

Wynonna’s internal struggle played across her face. Waverly was supposed to be the normal one. Leaving Waverly in Purgatory with Gus and Curtis was supposed to be a new beginning for the both of them. They promised to keep her safe from the nightmares that demanded Wynonna’s head on a platter. Even though the evidence spoke for itself, she found herself scrabbling for an alternative explanation.

“Uuuuh, no.” Wynonna said lamely. “It’s a new video filter. Pretty crazy what technology can do now, huh? April fools!”

“It’s January.” Waverly was not amused.

“She saw all that, huh?” Willow stepped back into view, cuddling the rescued rat against her neck. The redhead turned and smiled sheepishly. She gave a small wave, and the younger sister’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. A pen floated off the floor and began to spin in midair above Willow’s outstretched fingers. With a tiny flick of the wrist, the pen flew gracefully through the air and nestled itself in a pen-cup on the desk. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

“Damn it Willow, it is now! I was almost able to convince her, but now you’ve ruined it.”

“I assume your sister didn’t mention me being a witch?”

A witch? Waverly’s mouth gaped, but of the dozens of questions that buzzed through her mind, she couldn’t seem to get any words out. Wynonna’s face was locked in a scowl and she moved the phone closer to her face.

“Look, Waves, we gotta go. We can talk about this later. Just… don’t tell Gus and Curtis you saw anything? Swear you won’t?” Waverly nodded, and the video ended abruptly. There was a knock at Waverly’s door.

“Everything all right in there?” Curtis’s muffled voice filtered through the door. He had heard a bit of a ruckus and felt obligated to check in on Waverly.

“Y-yeah!” Waverly stammered, “I’m watching a scary movie. It’s pretty scary alright, made me jump! Was I too loud? Am I bothering you and Gus?”

“Naw you’re fine, pumpkin.” Curtis laughed. His boots clapped on the wooden floors as he walked away. “Jus’ checkin’ in on ya. Don’t get too scared now!”

Waverly tentatively placed two fingers at the top of the open page of ‘Et Clavicula Salomonis’. In English, ‘The Clavicule of Solomon’. She slid her fingers down the old, rough pages and felt a tingle of excitement ripple across her skin.

This was… a magic book?

.o0o. END CHAPTER 6 .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like the cat - I mean spider - is out of the bag. Knowing Waverly, she won't be able to stop thinking about this arcane discovery. With so much knowledge now at the tips of her fingers, how can she resist prying deeper? Only a little bit...
> 
> This chapter is an indirect reference to the episode "Gingerbread" where Amy Madison turns herself into a rat in order to escape burning at the stake. I love that season 3 has enough non-plot driving episodes to let me incorporate my main A-plot into the mix without detracting from the chronological compliance. It certainly gave me room to play!
> 
> BtVS S3 Episode References: "Gingerbread"


	7. Live Feeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a cannibal teacher on the loose and another student has gone missing. With nobody taking action, Wynonna takes matters into her own hands. Tonight, the Earp heir discovers the premiere dining experience for the underground. But will she become part of the buffet of bodies herself?

“Could you turn on another light or something?”

“No.”

Sunlight poked between the half-open blinds, and the alternating stripes of light and shadow curved over Principal Snyder’s balding cranium. Aside from his small, but intense, desk light and the lamp in the far corner, there was no other illumination in the principal’s office. He preferred to keep the lighting low when ‘counseling’ students. He believed it made him a more intimidating and imposing authority figure. In reality, it irritated everyone and resulted in eye strain and many a stubbed toe.

“You’ve missed the deadline.” Principal Snyder said snidely.

“If I hadn’t missed the deadline, I wouldn’t be here.” Wynonna peered at the man in the poorly lit room. He fingered her paperwork with apparent disdain. “Mrs. Henley said it had to be routed to you for approval.”  

“Do you want to know what I see?” Snyder pushed the ‘Course Withdrawal Form’ and ‘Deadline Waiver’ sharply across his desk with the tips of his fingers.  “Another punk, trying to skip out on responsibility. I see your grades in this class has been… subpar. You’re on the brink of failure. No wonder you’ve applied for a course drop waiver.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Then pray tell. What should I think, Ms. Earp?” He leered from behind laced fingers. The tips of his ears flared. Wynonna wondered how anyone could ever take him seriously. However, the little man had the big stick. To get what she needed, she needed to play the game by his rules.

Wynonna squirmed in her seat, shoving her hands between her clenched thighs, and hunched her shoulders. She sucked in her lips and avoided eye contact. She had to sell this. In the smallest voice she could muster, she said, “I don’t feel safe... around him.”

To be fair, it wasn’t a lie. Every time she looked at Mr. Del Rey, she imagined him carving the meat from her bones. But she knew how her statement would be interpreted. Snyder’s eyes bulged from his sockets, and she could practically hear his internal monologue raging.

 _She doesn’t feel safe_ … he thought. _If she reports this there could be an investigation. And with that blasted #MeToo movement, we could lose a teacher partway through the year for impropriety. I can’t have that! What about the school’s reputation? But if they find out I knew something was amiss and I didn’t follow through with anything, what about MY reputation? Oh god, what if she SUES?!_

Wynonna knew her plan worked. “Do you wish to report something?” He choked out, practically writhing on the words.

“…no. Not at this time.”

“Good.” Snyder said too quickly, rubbing his hands together earnestly. He leapt to his feet, ran to a filing cabinet, and fumbled through the files. “Don’t sue.” He whispered as he shoved a list of restricted and unrestricted reporting options into her hands. Without another question, he grabbed her papers and prepared to sign them. As he pressed pen to paper, he paused and looked at her.

“I’m obligated to inform you that by dropping this class, you won’t have enough credits to graduate.”

“I know.” She replied, her stomach churning. Hello summer school.

The intercom buzzed, and the tinny voice of Snyder’s secretary informed him of visitors. “Can it wait?” He snapped, hurriedly initialing Wynonna’s papers.

“No sir. It’s Detective Stein and Mrs. Evanston. They say it’s urgent.”

“Here.” He threw the papers at her. “Now get out.” Snyder, now frantic, shoved Wynonna out of his office. As she walked towards the front lobby, she passed a balding, middle-aged man wearing a suit and sporting a cleanly trimmed mustache. He escorted a shorter woman of a similar age with dyed blonde hair. The man, who must have been Detective Stein, escorted the trembling woman towards Snyder’s office. Her smoky eyeshadow ran down the sides of her face.

There was no mistaking it. The woman was Colleen’s mother.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

“We have to do something!” Wynonna said, emphatically slamming her hands on the table. The usually impassioned and proactive Scooby gang was uncharacteristically silent. Wynonna Earp was anything but an introvert, but she also wasn’t the kind of person to stand in front of a crowd and deliver inspiring speeches. She would classify herself more as a ‘back-of-the-bus’ kid. The fact she made any effort at all should have clued the team into the direness of the situation.

“Well, we will!” Willow said unconvincingly, wringing her hands anxiously. “But, you said it yourself. Your leads haven’t led to anything, and with Amy still being a rat and all…” The witch had become entirely consumed with her attempts to magic Amy back into her human state. Wynonna could sympathize. She was a professional avoider of problems herself, and in the aftermath of the kidnapping incident, Willow’s relationships with Oz and Xander were strained to the breaking point. Instead of confronting those problems head on, Willow chose to drown her emotions in a completely unrelated problem. Wynonna had been doing her best these past weeks to be sympathetic, but her patience was at an end.

“Now really isn’t a good time.” Xander grunted in his bluntest voice. He was not open to discussion. The sulking teenager hunkered behind his laptop as far away from the others as he could manage in the small library lobby. His browser was filled with dozens and dozens of new and used cars listings. Cordelia’s near death haunted him daily, and his tense relationship with his best friend left him in a perpetually foul mood. His fragile masculinity had taken a beat-down, and instead of dealing with his perceived inadequacy through communication or therapy, he coped by shopping for manly cars. His mind wandered to his Uncle Rory’s 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible. Maybe his Uncle would let him borrow it sometime…

“It’s possible that invisibility potion messed with a couple of your senses.” Buffy proffered. She sat bundled in an armchair looking abnormally tired. “Magic can be screwy, maybe you didn’t see what you thought you saw. You said you didn’t find anything in the lounge when you went back to check.”

“Oh my god, because he probably ate the rest of the evidence!” Wynonna tossed her hands up in the air. These people were unbelievable.

“I’m afraid I’m unaware of any students going missing.” Giles said calmly, pressing a steaming cup of tea into his Slayer’s hands.

“Colleen is missing.” Wynonna fired back.

“Did you hear the detective say so?”

“I didn’t have to. That look on her mother’s face said it all. She’s gone.” The Earp heir stared stubbornly at the Slayer until Buffy dropped her eyes into her lap. “Seriously, what’s up with you? You look like shit.” Giles plucked his glasses off his face and rubbed them meticulously for longer than necessary, but no one noticed.

“I… I don’t know.” Buffy mumbled. A horrible weakness had been creeping through her bones for days. Just yesterday, one of Cordelia’s local stalkers had gotten aggressive. When she took action to intervene, she was knocked aside like a rag doll. She came to Giles trembling and in tears. Was she broken? Giles contacted Faith immediately and instructed her to cover all patrol duties until further notice.

“Buffy is rather under the weather at the moment.” He said evenly, stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket. “She can’t patrol right now, let alone work any investigation until she’s well.”

“Newsflash, there’s a freaking cannibal running around redefining the meaning of ‘finger-licking good’ and we’re sitting around while he eats people!”

“Wynonna, you don’t know–” Buffy started, but Wynonna cut her off.

“I do know. You idiots aren’t listening.” Wynonna spent years of her life trying to convince people that she wasn’t delusional or a liar, and she was tired of people dismissing her as crazy and unstable. The time for talking was over. Now was the time for action! The white mesh cage that stored axes, swords, and other pointy implements of death called her name. Wynonna started to open the cage when Giles slammed it closed and barred her entry.

“Wynonna,” he started sternly, “don’t be rash.” The librarian stared her down with his best Watcher stare. Like that was going to scare her. She leaned in to close the distance between them until their faces were an inch apart.

“Bite me.” She spat, then stormed out of the library. Her hand closed around the lump in her coat pocket, accidentally knocking her keys to the ground. Determined as she was, she didn’t even notice and so paid them no mind. Her thumb found the smooth, rounded button in her pocket but did not press down. Living up to her reputation as a delinquent, she spent last night reading through sketchy internet forums and learned to jury-rig the camera’s flash into a makeshift Taser. The weapons cage might be out of her reach, but she would make do. With a Taser, a knife jammed down her boot, a coil of rope, and a big sock to muffle any screaming, Wynonna Earp set out on the warpath.

For the next hour, Wynonna brooded in the girl’s bathroom. She obsessively ran over her hasty and impulsive game plan. Step one, stall him in the parking lot by acting remorseful about dropping his class. Step two, delay until the coast is clear and stun him repeatedly. Step three, bag and gag. Step four, interrogate and don’t get eaten. Simple enough.

The final bell rang while she re-secured her knife for the hundreth time. Del Rey would linger at his desk for another several hours, grading a large stack exam papers from second period. He had a habit of staying later than the other teachers in the department. Time crawled at an agonizing pace. It was now quarter till five. She let out a shaky breath and stared at her reflection in the mirror. ‘You got this.’ She mouthed to herself, trying to psych herself up for the task at hand.

A chill breeze flew through the air, bringing with it an ominous sense of dread in the nearly deserted staff parking lot. Wynonna stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her target conversing with a student sporting a familiar head of curly black hair. The boy flicked the hair out of his face and Wynonna gulped.

Jeffrey and Del Rey were deeply engrossed in conversation and talking fervently, Jeffrey gesturing excitedly at something on a clipboard. Del Rey clapped him on the shoulder and opened the passenger door to his BMW. Jeffrey tossed the clipboard in the back and got in the car. Stunned by this monkey wrench in her plans, she rapidly reassessed the situation. New priority: rescue Jeffrey.

“Wynonna?” Del Rey addressed her quizzically, halfway into the driver’s seat. “What’s–” Wynonna paid him no mind and rapped violently on the passenger window.

“Jeffrey, get out. We’ve got to go.”

He rolled down the window, but didn’t budge. “What’s your problem?” He said with a petulant glare.

“Your Mom called. She needs us home, like now.”

“She knows I’m working my independent study tonight with Mr. Del Rey.” He looked at Wynonna like she had two heads. “We’re nearly at a breakthrough. There was a power surge at lunch so we’re continuing at his personal lab. I told her hours ago… and why would she call you, not me?”

Wynonna wrenched the car door open and grabbed his arm. “You’re coming with me.”

“Hey, piss off!” Jeffrey resisted her efforts. “You’re such a freak!”

A presence loomed behind her, and Wynonna realized Del Rey stood right behind her. She tensed, cursing her lack of situational awareness, and spun around to face him.

“Is there a problem, Ms. Earp?” Del Rey drawled in a placating tone. The bottom corners of his goatee curled. “If you and your brother need to go, by all means. Do give Jo Ann my best. I hope everything is all right.”

“Everything’s fine, Wynonna’s gone mental.” Jeffrey huffed and slammed his door closed. “I just texted Mom. She has no idea what you’re talking about!”

The chemistry teacher smoothed back his slick hair and smiled. “Well then, if that’s settled.” He walked back around the car.

“It’s not.” Wynonna clutched the camera in her pocket. Time slowed down. A spring coiled in her stomach. As her sister once put it, Wynonna was about to go all Wynonna again. Adrenaline flooded her system and she vaulted the hood of the car, brandishing the Taser in her free hand. She pressed the trigger in mid-air and the electricity crackled fiercely.

Had she waited a moment longer, perhaps she would have been successful. But the Taser was loud and the crackle alerted Del Rey to the impending strike. He whipped about and caught her arm as she landed. Del Rey’s eyes took on the sheen of iced over steel, and Wynonna knew she made a terrible mistake.

Vice-like hands slammed her viciously into the ground. Her head collided with the car on the way down. The momentum from her vault doubled the force of the impact, and she was unconscious almost instantly.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

_[1711] FAITH: yo, patrolling soon but wanna grab food b4 sunset?_

_NOV 13, 2018, 5:11 PM – MESSAGE NOT DELIVERED!_

Faith frowned. Her phone had 3 bars of signal. Wynonna must be in a crummy area, she mused. She flicked open a browser and searched for the Doublemeat Palace, her stomach juices growling at the idea of a doublemeat cheeseburger with a chocolate shake. The hungry Slayer leaned against the stop-sign on the corner as she tapped out her order on their order-to-go interface.

Blaring headlights came to a rolling stop, distracting Faith from her dreams of a tasty doublemeat delight combo. The driver paid her no mind and quickly sped through the intersection. He was gone in moments, but the image of slick hair and goatee only took a split-second to register. To make things worse, there was definitely blood on the BMW’s front quarter panel.

Giles finally answered on the fifth ring. “Where is she?” Faith demanded breathlessly, already sprinting in pursuit of the speeding vehicle. She prayed her instincts were wrong.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Every pulse felt like an out of control washing machine spin cycle. Wynonna’s head throbbed as she fought for consciousness. She clenched her fingers in agony, scrabbling against cold metal. Both legs were curled into the fetal position against the chill, and her left hand ached fiercely. Wherever she was, they surely had a terrible rating on Yelp. She opened her eyes and regretted the decision immediately. With a sickening squelch, she peeled her head off the ground. A dark red and clotted splotch was left behind.

Slowly but surely her eyes adjusted to her surroundings. The room was made of bare concrete walls with no windows. Two unmarked doors were centered on the walls to her left and right. Steel bars surrounded. Her left hand was shackled to one of these bars by metal cuffs with little to no slack. She was trapped in a cage, one of many that lined the long perimeters of the room. In the dark she could barely make out the blackened outline of vaguely human shaped silhouettes. She shook and pulled at the confines of her cage, but the bars and her shackle held firm. Locked. She was a prisoner.

The door on the left swung open and her captor strolled in whistling a creepy tune reminiscent of slow motion ice cream truck. Del Rey grinned a horrible sneer and waltzed up to her cage, bending at the waist to leer at her as if she were no more than an animal in a pet store. Wynonna recoiled. His normally straight, pearly whites were now yellow and serrated like those of a shark.

“You are quite the trouble maker.” He chastened, tapping the bars in time with his syllables. “Pity you dropped my class. You might’ve learned something. Like don’t mess with forces you can’t handle.”

“I’ve handled worse.” Wynonna hoped she sounded braver than she felt.

“Such spunk! Honestly I hadn’t given you a second thought. Imagine my surprise when I name-dropped you to the boss, and learned exactly how special you are.”

The door through which Del Rey entered swung opened a second time, and in walked a man in a dark blue utility uniform covered in dark stains. It was Barney the van driver, Wynonna remembered. Del Rey lost interest in her instantly and left to greet him. Their backs turned and they entered a deep conversation. Wynonna dug her fingers under the edge of the shackle, hoping to loosen its grip. The metal held fast, but in her struggles she discovered something that added to her panic. A thin tube protruded from the cuff leading to something above the cage she could not see. She tried to remove it but it resisted her efforts. She was simply too weak.

Money exchanged hands, and they exchanged a few more words before Del Rey ticked something off on his clipboard. They laughed and started prowling by the cages. Some they passed immediately. Others they stopped at a minute or more. They jabbed at the occupants like children at an aquarium.

They stopped in front of one for a long time. The two seemed to come to a decision, and Barney the lackey pulled a dolly out from the corner. He slid it under the steel cage, and wheeled the poor creature away towards a different door like it weighed no more than a bag of marshmallows. Nothing human could move so much weight so easily. An internal voice screamed at her, _never move to a second location!_

“Where are you taking them? Is that where you’re going to eat me?” Wynonna drew Del Rey’s attention once more.

“Silly girl, I’m not going to eat you.” Del Rey laughed, snapping his jaws open and shut like a mechanical shark. “Perhaps I’ll grab a bite later, but a good host eats last.”

“Host?” Her mouth went dry.

“Tonight is Sunnydale’s premiere dining experience for the underground! A buffet of bodies for anyone with a hankering for something fresh and alive. Folks can snack on the parts they like best, share with friends, or reserve one special. For a fee of course. I see the look on your face,” he relished in her ashen complexion, “you think this is a wasteful endeavor. Well don’t you fret! Nothing here gets discarded. Mars’ Meat salvages and packages the rest for our clientele all over the world.”

“Plus, we periscope the whole event for those millennial monsters who just like to watch. I call it a ‘Live Feed’. Get it?”

Fear and revulsion weighed heavily in her throat. “You’re a monster.” She croaked.

“I know.” Del Rey cooed.

“But you? No, you’re my cash cow. I’m saving you for a very special delivery… a very high bidder indeed. And speak of the Devil!” Del Rey answered his phone. “Heeeeey Hetty… yeah it’s Mars. Can you believe I was just talking about you? Crazy right? How’s Mama?”

As he chatted with his ‘high bidder’, Mars fiddled with something on top of her cage. An orange, viscous fluid dribbled down the tube. Wynonna scrabbled desperately, trying to stop the flow, but the tube was too rigid. “Don’t do this.” She gasped. The edges of her eyes went blurry and it felt like she was drowning.

Del Rey stared wildly at her, covering the mouthpiece with his palm. “Oh honey, I’ve been doing this.”

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Realizing the gravity of Faith’s phone-call, and the enormity of their mistake in dismissing Wynonna’s claims, the Scoobies scrambled into action. Willow set about casting a tracer spell on Wynonna’s forgotten keys while the others prepared for the rescue mission. Giles’ car was in the shop, so he dialed Oz and asked him to set aside his agitations with Willow for the evening. Oz was his usual level-headed self, and agreed to drive his van to support the mission to rescue Wynonna.

Xander and Buffy emptied the library’s weapon locker into the van, and Xander suggested Buffy bring their new flamethrower to compensate for her unexplainable illness. She took immediate offense at her perceived uselessness and resisted the suggestion. But now, crouched next to Faith in the dark with the tank sitting firmly on her back, she felt stronger than she had in days.

Lights flickered ominously within the condemned Sunnydale Meat Factory. Willow’s tracer spell winked in the direction of the not-so-deserted building, and they stalked in single file along the fenced perimeter. Through the mesh gates, the gang could see a truck idling in the loading zone. Three toughs loitered outside, puffing on cigarettes. They didn’t have to wait long for their delivery. The loading door opened, and a fourth man wheeled a cage out into the loading zone.

“That’s her, there in the cage!” Willow hissed, shielding the light from the tracer spell with a cupped hand.

“It’s locked.” Xander hissed, pulling at the gates. Faith growled impatiently and launched herself at the chain-link and scaled the gate with ease. While Giles and Xander struggled with the bolt cutters, Faith landed on the other side and started running. Buffy waited for her team to cut through, feeling more and more frustrated while Faith barreled into the fray with wild abandon. By the time they were through, Faith had dropped three of the four toughs and was pummeling the fourth into the dirt.

“Tell me! Tell me where he is – I’ll kill him!” Faith yelled, smashing her fists into Barney’s face over and over and over. It took all of the gang’s combined strength to disengage and restrain her. Buffy set her heel into the downed lackey’s throat, pinning him helplessly beneath her boot. She relished feeling in control again. With the nozzle of a flamethrower pointed between his eyes, Barney sang like a canary.

The boys took to the cage with vigor and Willow worked to detach the lurid fluid that kept Wynonna in a comatose state. The Slayers made eye contact, one cold like ice and the other livid with rage, and entered the factory. Barney’s hadn’t lied, and after several minutes, they found their quarry. The Slayers caught Del Rey assembling video cameras in front of cages filled with human prisoners drugged into a stupor. He froze like a deer in headlights.

“This hardly seems ethically sourced.” Buffy chided with a dead-pan stare, and flipped open the valve on her flamethrower.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

The world returned gradually as the drugs in Wynonna system faded. “It was a gas leak,” she heard Giles’ familiar voice, “nothing to worry about, everyone!” Sensation returned to her limbs, and she felt a pair of hands cradling her temples. Blearily she opened her eyes. Faith knelt above her, a knee on each side of her head. Wynonna tried to say something witty in greeting. Although no sound came from her vocal cords, the Slayer noticed the movement immediately.

“Welcome back, slacker.” Faith joked, her shaking hands belying her detached expression. “Way to nap and leave us with all the heavy lifting.” Wynonna mouthed ‘up’, and Faith supported her into a seated position. Willow offered Wynonna a water bottle, which she accepted gladly.

“I think that’s everyone.” Giles said to no one in particular, glancing around the courtyard for stragglers. The bemused civilians of Sunnydale gladly accepted his explanation of gas leaks and induced memory loss and dispersed without further questions. A gas leak was a much more digestible story than almost becoming meals on wheels. The citizens of Sunnydale were content with their simple, but illogical, answers. Reality was far too scary, and they lived far happier lives in denial.

“Del Rey?” Wynonna croaked in question.

“I introduced him to BBQ.” Buffy said firmly.

“Dash?” She asked, remembering where this sick nightmare began. The group fell silent.

“We found Colleen. She’s alright and headed home.” Willow offered in response, but Wynonna wouldn’t accept the change in subject. Their silence was obvious, but she needed to hear them say it. Otherwise it wouldn’t feel real. No matter how horrible the answer, she needed the closure. She deserved it.

As the Slayers lay siege to the murder factory, the gang set about releasing the prisoners. They scoured the factory from top to bottom, and discovered a horrible nightmare in the ‘meat packing’ room. It was a literal butcher’s shop kept at icy temperatures, and filled with previous victims of the horrific ‘Live Feeds’. All were alive only in the most literal sense, kept in suspended animation by the horrible orange fluid. They were covered in bite wounds, missing various appendages, and carved into pieces. Dash and these other victims could not be saved. Wynonna asked for the truth, and she got it.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

“Hey boss. You’re not gonna like this, but there’s been an incident.”

Calling it an incident was sugar coating things. A catastrophe was more like it. Mars’ Meat operation had been crippled. No Live Feed and no product meant no paying customers. On top of their more immediate losses, they would have to default on pre-ordered shipments. That meant refunds and a serious loss of credibility and future business. Could it be rebuilt? Would they have to close shop? What a mess.

“Yeah… payment’s going to be behind schedule…. I know this was an important one. Mars messed up. He’s out of the picture… No, like ‘dead’ out. He’s not coming back… I know he wasn’t really your brother, but damn. That’s cold, boss.”

Now only one remained of the Mars’ Meats crew. This sole survivor plucked a bit of quad from his pocket and nibbled it hungrily. While escaping from the deadly onslaught of the Slayers and their crew, he managed to stuff a few leftovers into his pockets. Not quite enough to satiate his hunger, his stomach growled for a very specific flesh. The cellphone glare illuminated his evil face in the dark, half hidden by messes of curly hair.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get one more payment in. I have a plan.”

.o0o. END CHAPTER 7 .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BtVS S3 Episode References: "Lover's Walk", "Helpless", and "The Zeppo"


	8. Bad Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does one get over being locked in a cage and being eaten alive? Drink, drink, and drink again. Maybe kill a few of the undead between those shots. But you can't do whatever you want to numb the pain. There are always consequences...

The drone of a morning talk-show host buzzed in Faith’s hotel room. It was 11:00 AM, and 5 o’clock somewhere. They bounced their glasses on the floor and swallowed their shots with vigor. They were already six deep, and the horrible images of last night seemed like a nightmare, fuzzy and washed out along the edges. The Slayer’s phone buzzed, and she clumsily swiped passed her lock screen.

“Whoo’zat?” Wynonna questioned, leaning over precariously to get a look at the tiny screen.

“B.” Faith grunted. “Says we gotta new Watcher. Name’s Wesley.”

“Wesley? Sounds like-a pretentious sonuvagun to me.” Faith chuckled and clumsily tapped out her reply.

_[1103] FAITH: is he evil?_

_[1103] BUFFY: He assigned us homework, so probs. Remember those pointy sword guys?_

“Eliminati…” Faith stumbled over the spelling. Everything felt topsy turvy and not quite straight.

“Like National Treasure?”

“Nah, more like Tomb Raider…” Faith scrolled through the messages that were pouring in. “Some vamp cult, lookin’ fer an amulet of Balthazar.”

“Bath-bazar?” Wynonna felt perplexed. “Tha’s a ridiculous name. Why all the demons have to be named some weird shit? Like, why can’t demons be named Carl? Stupid idiots.” The Earp heir pronounced and poured herself another double.

“Com’on.” Faith pushed to her feet and dragged Wynonna up with her. “Wanna kill stupid idiots while getting drunk?”

“See tha? Now yer speakin’ my language.”

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

“Well, looks authentic enough.” Wesley the Watcher peered at the red stone embedded in the scuffed, golden amulet. “Of course, I must provide immediate correction regarding your standard operating procedures.”

“There ain’t nothing standard about this.” Wynonna wagged the tip of her empty crossbow suggestively at her chest.

“Your nearly extinct cult was out in magnum force last night!” Buffy rebutted, crossing her arms in irritation at Wesley’s critique. “Faith and I got into a serious party situation. If it wasn’t for Wynonna’s cover fire, we could have–”

“Could have what?” Wesley snipped. “You’re telling me two Slayers, which mind you is quite the historical precedence in and of itself, couldn’t handle the situation? It’s impermissible to involve untrained civilians in something so decidedly perilous.”

Wynonna bristled at his implication of inadequacy. She went on the defensive immediately, but deep down, part of her believed it was true. “I’ll have you know that I’m the goddamn Earp heir.”

“And that confers upon you… what exactly?”

“I believe this conversation is going nowhere.” Giles placed a hand on Wesley’s shoulder and reined the overzealous Watcher in with gentle firmness.

“You’re certainly no help.” Wesley complained indignantly. The two Watchers entered a heated discussion, and the trio escaped into the hallway.

“B, where you going?”

“Class.” She replied, swinging round in the door frame. “Some of us are actually students here?” Buffy said pointedly at Wynonna. Whereas Wynonna dropped chemistry altogether, Buffy transferred into Mrs. Taggert’s class along with a handful of Mr. Del Rey’s other students. The brunette shrugged. Although the prospect of summer school wasn’t pleasant, a free period in place of chemistry with a cannibal wasn’t such a bad a deal.

“This whole school thing is such a drag.” Faith laughed as she jogged down the steps. She threw her arm over Wynonna’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Look at us, free as birds. Think of all we can do with this time! You get me?” The sky was a bright cheery blue, but inside, Wynonna’s now sober thoughts churned with a black sickness. She could not smell the freshly cut grass, because the sickening waft of manslaughter still clogged her nostrils. A cage no longer held her, but an invisible claustrophobia held her in a vicelike grip.

Being sober was for the birds.

On impulse, Wynonna pulled her companion around the side of the building. They ran along until they came to a thin stretch of bricks unbroken by windows. She pulled the Slayer into her, trying to bury her discomfort against the wall.

“I have an idea or two to kill the time.” Wynonna muttered, hoping the Slayer’s very physical presence would evict the uneasy sickness from her body.

“Now we’re talking…”

But Faith pulled away, and the sickness welled up in the space she left behind. It was all Wynonna could do to suppress a series of shudders. Wynonna turned to follow Faith’s distracted gaze, and found Buffy staring at them with a pointed look. They were right outside the windows of the Chemistry classroom. Faith laughed and steamed the window with her hot breath. Her fingers traced out a heart in the fog, and her eyes danced suggestively, daring her counterpart to open the window. Moments later, Buffy landed beside them and slid the window shut.

“Am I interrupting?” Buffy asked, knowing full well she had.

“Nah, B. Come have some fun. Save that school bullshit for a rainy day.”

“And your idea of fun?”

“Slayage, what else could I possibly mean?” Faith winked suggestively at Wynonna, which implied a very different interpretation. “Come on, that look in your eyes right after a kill? You get hungry for more. You know I’m right.”

So slay they did. To escape the fatal light of day, a group of vampires holed up in an abandoned building across town. They never stood a chance. Sunlight poured through the windows as they shattered, and the demons burst into flames atop their mounds of mattresses and garbage. Buffy and Faith went to work with their stakes, while Wynonna cast death from afar with a crossbow.

Each twang of the string upon release of its payload was followed by the coughing dissolution of a demon into dust. Wynonna had become an exceedingly proficient marks-woman over the past few months, which she embraced wholeheartedly. Each vampire that crumbled under her deadly aim sent a fresh flood of adrenaline through her veins. It was almost as numbing as a stiff drink. Almost.

Lucky for Wynonna, the girls put in for a little after hours after all that side-by-side action. In this line of business, the liquor flowed as inexhaustibly as the blood of their enemies. The Bronze was in full club mode, and the three women danced to the music with wild abandon. Surrounded by sweating bodies and blinded by strobe lights, Buffy somehow managed to discern the tortured silhouette of Angel in the throng, and left Faith and Wynonna behind on the dance floor. The two were dancing so close together, one could have mistaken them for a single body.

When the DJ dropped a new beat, they ran to the bar and threw themselves on the counter, shouting loudly for drinks. When the bartender turned, they realized it wasn’t their usual, Keith. Their faces fell when they learned Keith had fallen sick and left earlier in the evening. Keith knew them. More importantly, Keith didn’t card.

“D’you have a fake?” Faith whispered, eyeing the customer next to them at the bar. Five whiskey shots sat in front of the man in a neat row, but he paid the shots no mind. The beautiful woman to his right was the sole object of his attentions.

“Yeah, but it’s Canadian.” Wynonna admitted. “Doubt they’ll take it here.”

“Wha, really? What’s it look like?” As Wynonna dug in her pockets, Faith nicked two of the five shots from the distracted man and made her escape. They found a small table by the wall, and Wynonna traded her Faith her fake ID for the whiskey. She downed it immediately while Faith scanned the little plastic rectangle. “Hold on, is this really your birthday?”

“No, idiot. It’s a fake.”

“Not the year, the day.” Wynonna nodded, fingering the little glass with her pinky finger. “Seriously? It’s tomorrow!”

“So what?”

“Were you going to tell me?” Her lack of response was answer enough. Faith plucked her shot up and strutted around the table with a mischievous grin. The Slayer posted up behind her and raised the glass to Wynonna’s lips. “Bottoms up, birthday girl!” She said loudly over the music, and tipped the glass. Wynonna didn’t hesitate and downed it like a pro. Then she turned to Faith and pressed her whiskey tainted mouth to hers. The heir drank her in, as though she could get drunk off her taste.

“I hate them.” She mumbled against her lips. “I hate birthdays.” Birthdays were horrible reminders of the terrible curse she was doomed to inherit. After tomorrow, the ominous deadline decreased from ten years to nine. Double digits to single. It was a terrible fact, and she hated thinking about it.

“I could change that.” Faith’s hands fell to her hips and she gave that wicked smile again. At that moment, Buffy reappeared from her rendezvous with Angel.

“What did he want?” Wynonna asked, her lips tingling from the drink.

“Some follow-up on the Balthazar amulet, but we took care of it.” Buffy said dismissively. The club music changed tempo, and she jumped in excitement. “Come on! Let’s dance, I love this song.”

“Scratch that, B. We have something extra special to celebrate tonight!” Faith declared. “Our girl’s got a birthday, and we’re gonna get her a present.”

Bad ideas often masquerade as good ideas after a few drinks. The three girls went adventuring under the influence, as one does, intent on finding a suitable gift for their favorite marks-woman. Their non-linear route eventually led them outside Meyer Sports & Tackle, a local sporting goods shop.

“Oh. That’s too good.” Without any hesitation, Faith barged forward and kicked the door down. The lock buckled under the Slayer’s strength and the glass window pane shattered. She hopped over the broken glass and darted around the shop like a kid in a candy store.

“I know just what you need. How ‘bout this baby?” Said Faith, oogling a top of the line hunting crossbow. Wynonna bent over to admire the compound bow, swaying as she tried to maintain her balance. The weapon was an arms-length of deadly fire, offering 128 foot-pounds of kinetic energy per bot at a top speed of 390 feet per second. It was a far cry from the bare bones model in the library’s weapon cage. Wynonna whistled in approval.

“D’you think they have insurance?” Buffy wondered aloud. Her eyes were glued to a glass display case filled with rows upon rows of knives and daggers.

“When are you gonna learn, Buff?” Faith crowed, lifting an arm above her head. “Want.” Her elbow crashed into the display case, sending shards skittering around the room. “Take.” She seized the weapon and a quiver of bolts, and turned to Wynonna with her signature smirk. “Have. Happy birthday.”

Sunnydale’s finest didn’t know what to make of the three high-school girls decked out in black-leather. Officer Rogge recalled a recent report on one of ‘those girl gangs’ and put two and two together. If that was the case, then that gang was putting together some serious artillery. He would have to follow up with Officer Skuby on the matter. He drew his firearm, settled into his shooting stance, and flicked the safety catch.

“Drop the weapons, and get down on the ground. Now!”

 .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

“I liked him, he was butch.” Faith crooned over the smashed police cruiser. After cuffing and stuffing the three women, both Slayers used their combined powers to destroy the metal mesh barrier and escape arrest. After a night of impulsive decisions, what was one more?

“We should call an ambulance.” Said Buffy, rubbing her wrists where the cuffs had dug into her skin. The two cops moaned in the wreckage.

“Five people already have, with the racket we made. And they’re fine.”

The crash had little impact on Buffy and Faith, who could take more than their fair share of rough-housing. However, the less super-powered individuals involved did not walk away from the incident unscathed. Wynonna’s shoulder and leg throbbed with a bone deep ache. When they started running away into the night she could hardly keep up. She slowed to a crawl after two blocks and needed to be physically supported the rest of the way.

Faith insisted she stay at her place another night, but Wynonna refused. In the past 48 hours, she had assaulted an evil science teacher in the parking lot, been caged by cannibals and almost eaten, raided a vampire nest, been arrested by the police for breaking and entering, and now to top it all off gotten into a car crash. It was overwhelming. All she wanted now was to be home and alone.

They said their goodbyes at the driveway to the Bleeker residence, and Wynonna hobbled up the driveway of her own volition. It took all of her will to raise her arm high enough to slide the key into the lock. A wave of exhaustion rushed through her body when the deadbolt thudded open. Someone was watching television from the family room.

“Wynonna, is that you?” For once, Wynonna wasn’t angered by the mere sound of Jeffrey’s voice.

“Yeah,” she groaned, struggling to slip out of her jacket, “the one and only.”

“Where have you been? Mom’s been…”

“Out.” The throbbing in her arm was getting worse. “I know I should have called, but it’s complicated.” She glowered as the television volume increased. Was he was trying to drown her out? What a dick.

As she struggled with the strap of her boot, a terrible thought began to materialize through the haze in her mind. In all the turmoil and distress she had forgotten. Jeffrey was at the parking lot when everything went to shit. Why hadn’t he called the authorities? Or told Mrs. Bleeker what happened? In fact, no one from her adoptive family had tried contacting her today or yesterday. In any event, why would someone like Marshal Del Rey have let him go?

Her stomach dropped.

She tried to rise to her feet she was too slow. Her nostrils burned and she choked on an orange mist that erupted in her face. Jeffrey watched her crumple to the floor with a manic glee. He spun the mister bottle around his pointer finger like Doc Holliday in an old western film, and slipped it into his belt loop.

“Time to bring home the bacon.” He cackled. A glob of drool seeped from the corner of his mouth.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Buffy fingered the little black bag of herbs, breathing in the scent of minty fresh protection. Willow looked at her hopefully. The redhead had proven herself on dozens and dozens of occasions. But tonight felt different. Buffy’s past few slayage outings felt… out of control. For all her newfound talent with witchcraft, she was still human. Buffy trusted Willow with her life, but tonight, she wasn’t sure if Willow should trust the Slayer with hers. Before she could reconsider, Faith entered without knocking.

“Ready? Gotta motor. Oh, hey Willow.” She said, acknowledging her as an afterthought.

“Hi.” Willow mumbled, lowering her gaze to her bed.

“Uh, look, I really should… but later, we’ll hang.” Buffy forced a smile through the guilt and pressed the bag of herbs into Willow’s hands. “Okay?”

“Okay. You go ahead, I’ll just get my stuff.” Willow gestured for them to go and watched the door swing shut. She looked at the little magic bag despondently. “Stupid.” She muttered, and tossed the bag onto her beside table. Willow was tired of rejection. Deep down, the sensible part of her knew it was Faith who made the call, not Buffy. But it hurt all the same.

Willow scowled unpleasantly. Hadn’t the Slayers brought Wynonna with them to slay these past few days? She had significantly less experience, had a knack for getting in trouble, and as far as Willow could tell, didn’t bring any special skills to the table. The only magic Wynonna seemed capable of was making whiskey disappear. After a few more sour thoughts, Willow’s guilt reaction kicked in.

She berated herself for projecting her jealous frustrations onto the Earp girl. She and Wynonna had hung out on many occasions, and Wynonna had proven herself to be a steadfast, if not reckless, friend. Wynonna hadn’t been with the Slayers tonight either. That meant Buffy must truly believe tonight’s mission was terribly dangerous. As for why Wynonna got to go on missions the past few days, Buffy must’ve wanted to keep an eye on her after the showdown at the Meat Factory. These rationalizations comforted her, but she felt like a jerk for her irrational emotions.

Willow grabbed her phone with a mind to text Wynonna, but stopped with her thumbs hovering above the keyboard. She breathed in through the nose and out through the mouth. Bit by bit, she fought down the instinctive urge to apologize. These past few months, Willow had been consciously working on her assertiveness. That meant less guilt-fueled apologies for things she wasn’t obligated to apologize for. Moments passed, and the urge dissipated. Proud of her victory, Willow escaped to the kitchen to grab herself a late-night snack. It was just as well. Wynonna was rather tied up at the moment.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Angel found Buffy running frantically down a garbage filled alley. Her breath fell from her mouth in ragged gasps, and her eyes were wide with an emotion she couldn’t seem to fully comprehend. The iron-tanged scent of blood slammed into his nostrils, but when he tried to inspect her hand for injury, she wrenched it away. Buffy insisted she was okay. He knew she wasn’t. Someone else’s blood was on her hands, but now was not the time to press questions. Giles and Wesley’s lives were at the mercy of Balthazar and his minions, and time was of the essence.

Angel and Buffy crept into the warehouse through one of the unused ventilation shafts. Upon reaching the end of the shaft, they found themselves balanced on a precariously swinging catwalk. From above, the two could see the massive pink blob that was the demon Balthazar soaking like a mass of silly putty in a huge basin of water. Tied at the wrists, Wesley screamed girlishly and promised to ‘tell them everything!’ The gargantuan demon feigned interest in his offer, but then instructed his henchmen to pull off his kneecaps.

Angel and Buffy nodded to each other and made their way to the ground floor. In silence, they split up along the perimeter of the warehouse floor where the lighting was poorest. Attack the group from both flanks, divide their forces, and cause as much confusion as possible. As Angel crept up behind two of the less situationally aware vampires, he overhead a snippet of their conversation. These two huddled in the back, away from their master’s rage, and were bowed over the luminescent light of a cellphone.

“What’re you gonna vote for?” The shorter one hissed, jabbing at something on the screen. “I wanna see her legs go first!”

“Get’cher own account and vote yerself.” The taller one growled, shoving the other away.

“You can bet I will, after the boss lets us outta here for tonight.” The shorter one smacked his lips. “Where d’you think he should start? Top? Bottom?” Angel crept closer, and could now see the stitching on their uniforms. The taller one snorted as though the answer was obvious.

“Lips.” He rumbled, tapping on his phone. “There’s something about screaming without a mouth, ya’ know? Makes my toes curl.” That remark gave Angel pause. A lipless scream? He shuddered.

“The man who has my amulet – what is his name?” Balthazar screamed at the captive Watchers, his impatience and anger getting the best of him. Angel took his cue and donned his battle face, grooved and ferocious. He and Buffy leapt into the fray and set about their deadly work.

“Unacceptable! Unacceptable” The pink, blobby demon roared. His petulance could not invigorate his failing minions, nor could it prevent his own crispy demise. A precarious and ancient light fixture dangled overhead, wobbling to and fro. Buffy grabbed the rickety safety hazard and brought it crashing down into his tank. The live wires sprouted arcs of white-blue sparks that danced over the water, electrocuting Balthazar to a consistency beyond well done.

Balthazar’s corpulent body slumped lifelessly, twitching with the aftershocks. They approached the monster in silence, the smell of burned meat searing the insides of their nostrils as they took in the gruesome scene.

“You killed him.” Giles noted, his breath still labored from combat.

“Yeah.” Buffy said quietly. “Hooray for me.”

She turned to leave, but Balthazar wasn’t finished yet. One of the demon’s puffy hands shot suddenly twitched with life, then shot forward and grabbed her. Taken aback, Buffy wrenched herself from his grip, weak and frail as it was. He sputtered and coughed on death’s doorstep.

“Slayer…” he wheezed, “you think you’ve won?” Wisps of smoke floated from between his lips. His insides had carbonized. “When he rises… you’ll wish I had killed you all.”

Then the demon Balthazar really did die, a haunting grin ghosting his lips.

They decided to leave the body where it was, and lock the warehouse on the way out. He was simply too large to move, and with the downed wires it was too dangerous to attempt a dismembering. With his considerable bulk, they were all glad to skip a step for once. They left the warehouse, both Watchers safe and sound once more, but the night was not done with them yet.

Buffy’s phone rang. She was exhausted, but her duty had no curfew. A panicked Willow tried to describe the situation, but Buffy’s brain was running on fumes and couldn’t make heads or tails of her frantic explanation. Whatever it was, Willow sounded spooked. It sounded like she had just seen a ghost.

“Will, you gotta slow down. What’s going on?”

“Wynonna, she’s in trouble!”

.o0o. END CHAPTER 8 .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight, Wynonna Earp S3E2 aired. Strangely enough, there were cannibals and people getting locked in cages and getting eaten. Seems like the writers and I had some parallel trains of thought! What a powerful episode.
> 
> BtVS S3 Episode References: "Bad Girls"


	9. Planar Projections of the Fifth Sort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The brilliant light scoured her pores and scrubbed the insides of her ears and nostrils. As quickly it appeared it vanished, and Waverly found herself unchanged. She looked about her room feeling defeated and slumped forward to lean on her hands. Was it the wrong type of charcoal?"

It took all of Waverly’s willpower not to scratch. The electronics in her room were unplugged and powered off, the bedroom door was locked, and the only lights came from six, tiny, flickering candles. Each candle stood upon a corner of a charcoal hexagon, set within small, individual circles of coal. The geometric grid was drawn on a bit of construction paper she dug out from her art supplies. She hadn’t wanted to scrub her floor afterwards.

A carved, purple crystal rested in the center of the grid and shined with slick oil. The same oil was smeared across her forehead which now dribbled down the bridge of her nose. Who knew oil could be so itchy? But the spell instructions had forbidden the caster from moving once the grid was energized, so she valiantly battled her urges and remained still. On the bright side, the oil was infused with cinnamon and vanilla which smelled heavenly.

Ever since the spider-rat incident, Waverly had eagerly set about devouring the contents of ‘Et Clavicula Salomonis’. The prospect of magic, real magic, made her light-headed and giddy! The only thing missing was a half-giant wandering into her room and announcing, “You’re a witch, Waverly!” But what to try first? She knew when she saw it. The thick pages of the grimoire lay open at her side to a section whose title translated to “Planar Projections of the Fifth Sort”.

In other words, astral projection. With such a spell she could see the world; visit Peru, India, Japan, or even the Antarctic! But her heart ached for something else. Waverly was lonely. After several weeks of intense study and preparation, it all culminated on this night, for at midnight Wynonna’s would turn 18. Waverly grinned as she imagined her sister’s surprise. It would be amazeballs.

The hexagon grid enabled spiritual expansion, ascension, and transcendence of the caster. In order to reach that state, the spell required purposeful meditation to synchronize the energy of the body with the energy of the crystal. Once the caster achieved synchronization, a verbal spell would infuse the crystal grid with universal energy and activate the spell. This is where the details were fuzzy. Waverly had no idea what synchronization looked like. Since there were no details provided, she hoped that ‘synchronization’ would be obvious.

Waverly’s internal clock knew it had been but half an hour, but her knees on the hardwood floor ached as though it had been years. She shifted uncomfortably, and nearly groaned when she felt the oil slide onto her upper lip and spread along the crease of her mouth. She pressed her lips shut tight, but it was too late. Vanilla extract may smell incredible, but the taste was downright foul. After several long moments of resistance Waverly caved. She sputtered and spat and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Disgusting!

As she fretted, she opened her eyes and gasped. The crystal was aglow, radiating rich hues of pink and purple. All the candles were still lit, but they paled in comparison to the mystical glow.

“Synchronization.” Waverly breathed. She’d done it. After reading and re-reading the activation chant, the words burned clearly in her mind. But just in case, she turned and read from the written word.

“Shu, god of air, lift thought from body without care. Body gravity, now body light, set me free.”

Everything brightened immediately as if someone had set off a flashbang. The brilliant light scoured her pores and scrubbed the insides of her ears and nostrils. As quickly it appeared it vanished, and Waverly found herself unchanged. She looked about her room feeling defeated and slumped forward to lean on her hands. Was it the wrong type of charcoal? She wracked her brain trying to sort out what detail she must have missed. After minutes of this, she glanced into the mirror and saw herself…

…and there she sat. Eyes closed, facing quite the wrong direction, as if she had never moved at all.

Waverly flapped her hands in disbelief and found her movements produced no reflection. She jumped and spun about. She saw herself, Waverly Earp, sitting quite motionless with her eyes closed and the book in her lap. Waverly moved to grab the book, but her hand passed through the binding as though it were made of clouds.

“It worked.” She whispered to herself in awe and gazed at her ethereal hand. Upon closer inspection, she found a nearly invisible thread of silver attached to her left pointer finger connected to the identical finger on her physical form. Her eyes flicked to her opposite hand and found a similar thread on her right pointer finger. This led away from her body and terminated in the purple crystal.

It all made sense. Waverly steeled herself, brought forth the mental picture of her older sister and reached out to touch the crystal.

Waverly found herself in the dark. Was Wynonna already asleep? As her eyes adjusted to the dim, Waverly realized she was not in a bedroom at all. Stacks of what appeared to be audio equipment cluttered the perimeter of a large storage room. She looked about in confusion, wondering why on earth the spell brought her here. All thoughts of ‘happy birthday’ vanished from her mind when she found her sister collapsed in a heap next to an amplifier.

Waverly ran forward, but stopped when a terrible ache bored into her temples. Slowing her movements, and fighting off a sudden wave of nausea, she tried to shake her sister awake. She cursed in frustration as she realized her hands had no substance and passed through Wynonna’s body like a ghost. “Wynonna!” She cried, her voice sounding metallic and small. “Wynonna, wake up!” Over and over again Waverly called out her name, fighting back a dizzying sickness and rising panic. Wynonna came to, just barely, and rolled onto her side lethargically.

“Wav-ly...” Wynonna mumbled weakly. “Mus’ be dreamin’. Yer not here.”

“No, Wynonna, it’s me!” Waverly said, frantically. She scanned her eyes up and down her sister’s body, looking for injury, and saw that her hands and feet were bound with rope. “I used magic to come to see you! I wanted to see you, but what’s going on? Why are you…?”

The storage room door slammed open. Light poured into the darkness, and in walked Jeffrey Bleeker. His black hair dangled in front of eyes filled with manic delight. Waverly froze, but Jeffrey took less notice of her than the dust on top of the cabinets. He knelt down and grabbed Wynonna roughly by the hair.

“Rise and shine!” Jeffrey hollered. Drops of spittle flecked her cheeks as he pressed his wicked face close to hers.

“Stop it!” Waverly yelled, but it was clear Jeffrey could neither see nor hear her. She was a ghost to everyone but her sister.

“Ah-I know dish feelin’.” Wynonna slurred. “Ih-it wuz the orange…?” She struggled weakly against her bonds while he cackled.

“Oh Wynonna,” he clucked, pinching her face between his forefinger and thumb. “I always said you’d never make it here.” He shoved her face into the ground, then rose and kicked her savagely in the gut. Waverly began to weep angrily.

“Mars and I had something good.” Jeffrey said over Wynonna’s groans. “When I first took his class, I was nobody. A loser. But he saw my potential! He shaped me and showed me what I was capable of. He ran his business, while I made sure the cows didn’t put up a fight with my morphine-doped cocktail. And I always got dibs on the softest bits of the pretty ones.” He licked his lips with relish. His sneering lips twisted with rage, and he wound up for another blow.

“Until-” the first kick glanced off her knees.

“-you went-” the second blew through her feeble defenses.

“-and fucked it up!” the last left her gasping for air.

“Stop it! Stop it you monster!” Waverly sobbed. She ran forward, ignoring the growing pain in her head and tried to lay hands on Wynonna’s assaulter. Not that it did any good. Jeffrey panted from the exertion. He spit on Wynonna with disdain and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist.

“Now we’re in the hole with the boss, and he doesn’t take kindly to those with unpaid debts. I had to wrack my mind on how to pony up that much cash to make up the difference in the short term, what with our Live Feeds ruined and our supply chain severed. Then I had a vision.” He said, his eyes widening. “Live Feeds 2.0, with virtual audience interaction!”

“The highest bidders get to control which part of you I eat first. I sent out online polls to our old clientele, asking if they’d be interested. The response was overwhelming! Some extra motivated folks set up pools for how long they think you’ll last. 7-2 odds on you staying conscious through the first 45 minutes. Better get in on that.”

“I wanted to do this yesterday, but you didn’t come home. No matter… I did test runs with the broadcasting equipment last night to work out all the kinks.” His pupils dilated.

“But don’t you worry! She was only the appetizer.” He acknowledged with a wink. “Tonight’s the main course. Lucky you.” A buzzing in his back pocket interrupted him. The screen lit up his face in the dark. “30 minutes until show time! Must be getting ready, now.” He said gleefully and walked towards the door.

“What are you…?” Jeffrey paused. He looked at her over his shoulder. Ice dripped from his voice.

“Unquestionably human.” The door to the storage room swung shut.

“Oh my god.” Waverly was shaking from head to toe. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god, Wynonna what do we do? He’s going to kill…”

“Faith, Buffy, Willow… anybody. Send help.”

“Oh, but Wynonna, where are you?”

“The Bronze, baby girl. Tell them… the Bronze.”

The silver thread on Waverly’s left hand burned bright, and the world in front of her disappeared. Both eyelids fluttered open, and she found herself back in her room. She scrambled to her feet, knocking over several candles in the process. With jittery hands she snatched her phone and scrolled down the contacts.

“The Bronze, the Bronze, the…” Waverly’s mouth dried. Who was she supposed to call for help? She didn’t have contact information for anybody. Should she try the California police? Would they believe a little girl from Canada? Would they get there in time?

The crystal still glowed.

Waverly made up her mind. She knelt in place, righted the candles, and pulled forth the mental image of one red-headed witch.

Willow sat scrunched up in a nest of blankets and pillows with a large book balanced in her lap. She clenched a coffee mug filled with ice cream and was in the midst of devouring her late-night snack when the ghostly apparition of a young girl popped into her bedroom. Had the Rosenbergs been home that evening, their daughter’s shriek would have led them to believe one of their neighbors had been axe-murdered. However, the only victim that night was Willow’s paperback volume of “Ready Player One”, now smeared with minty-green ice cream. The apparition stumbled forward, and Willow recognized Wynonna’s little sister.

“Oh my gosh, Waverly? Is that you?” What are you…?”

“No, no time. Wynonna’s…” The girl keeled over, clutching her head. The throbbing in her temples returned with extraordinary intensity in comparison to the previous casting. Blackness crept in around the edges of her eyes.

“This is astral projection!” Willow said, clearly shocked. Astral projection was an extremely powerful spell and extraordinarily taxing on the body. It was almost unbelievable a girl so young and inexperienced was able to cast it at all. “Waverly, you need to stop. This spell is pushing you too far. If you lose consciousness you’ll never find your way back to your body!”

“The Bronze, she said the Bronze. He’s going to eat her!” The pain was excruciating. Waverly’s vision blurred, but she carried on with her message. “Jeffrey. It’s Jeffrey, he’s going to kill Wynonna. I had to… had to find… help.” Willow extricated herself from her nest and hopped to the floor next to Waverly. Waverly’s projection rocked back and forth, but stared resolutely at Willow. Her level of exertion was evident by her contorted expression and ashen face.

“Yes, yes I hear you. I’ll get Buffy, we’ll go to the Bronze. But stop Waverly. Leave now! You’ve got to go before it’s too…”

“Darling, did you hear me callin’? It’s time for supper!” Gus knocked, once, twice, and a third time on Waverly’s bedroom door, but heard nothing. She frowned. Gus was positive Waverly went up to her room a few hours ago to study, and she certainly wasn’t anywhere else in the house. Perhaps she was out back with the horses. Gus shrugged and turned to walk away, when a large thud from inside the bedroom broke the silence.

“Waverly?” Gus rattled the doorknob, but the brassy knob held fast. Locked. She called again, but still there was no response. Her heart raced in her chest. She scrambled down the hall to the closet and sprung up onto her tip-toes. Gus’s fingertips slid along the top of the doorframe, feeling out the pin she kept there for just such an occasion. Several years ago, during one of her mother’s infrequent visits, her mother’s hip gave out and she found herself locked and trapped in the washroom. Upon her rescue, Gus ferreted away the pin should it ever happen again.

The pin’s tip vibrated furiously up and down in Gus’s hands. She wrenched at the doorknob and barreled her way inside. Waverly sprawled catatonically next to her cultish display of candles, coal, and crystals. The edge of a book lay parallel with the bed skirts, knocked out of sight when Waverly collapsed. “Curtis!” Gus yelled, rushing to Waverly’s side. Heavy stomps rushed up the stairwell, and Curtis’s weathered face skidded to a halt outside the door.

“Whassa’matter?” He heaved, taking in the scene before him. Both eyes narrowed as he laid his sights on the gleaming crystal in the grid. He strode forward and knelt, pressing his fingertips into the purple gem. The glimmering light within was receding fast, but the surface was still warm to the touch.

“She’s breathing.” Gus said with a crashing sense of relief. “Come on, now. Wake up, baby girl.” She cradled the girl, gently tapping her face with her palm. The taps elicited a small groan, but nothing more. Waverly remained slack and unconscious in Gus’s arms.

“Sugilite.” Curtis muttered in frustration, gripping the stone with intensity. “This is a sugilite projection crystal! Even has the damn carving on the bottom.” His fingernails caught in the grooves of the etched symbol. He slipped the stone into his pocket. “Where did she get this? And how the hell did she… did she… well, do this?!” He gestured madly at the mystical hexagon. Gus shook her head incredulously. The older woman lay the back of her hand on Waverly’s forehead.

“She’s burning up. Get me all the ice packs we have and water.”

“If they found her…” The grooves in his face deepened, and the surrounding flesh blossomed red with anger.

“Not now, Curtis.” She snapped. “Go get me that ice!”

.o0o. END CHAPTER 9 .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BtVS S3 Episode References: none


	10. The Worst Birthday Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynonna awakes and faces down her villainous step-brother, Jeffrey. Will the rescue party make it in time, or will she be left to fend for herself?

Two monstrous camera lenses captured reflected Wynonna’s desperate situation. They leered at her like the eyes of a gigantic fly. They made for a grossly apathetic audience. Wynonna stood bound like the Vitruvian man on a blood spattered stage. Her wrists and ankles were bound by ropes to two, long metal poles that had seen their fair share of dancers.

Jeffrey the cannibal fiddled with a tablet, whistling cheerily. “Smile for the camera!” he told her with a Cheshire cat grin. She ducked her head and scowled. How would she get out of this mess? Would Waverly, or that ghost that looked like Waverly, send help? Or had it all been a hallucination. Jeffrey grabbed her cheeks and forced them upwards. “I said SMILE. You’re on TV.” She spit on him with all the disgust she could muster.

“Not yet, she ain’t.” Wheezed a man through swollen gums. Barney, in his signature stained utility uniform, crouched over a mess of wires and cabling. He glared as the electronics through bruised eyes, as though they had wronged him and not Faith the night of the Meat Factory raid.

“How much longer?” The teenage cannibal snapped. Barney shrugged, which only agitated him further. “We have customers who paid for a show. Do you have any idea how high the stakes are?” He hissed menacingly.

“Yeah boss,” Barney huffed, “I gotta lotta money riding on how long this lil’ darlin’ here lasts. Three-ta-one odds.”  Jeffrey turned to his prisoner and began to brag.

“I’ve closed the polls, do you want to know what part of you they want me to eat first?” Rank waves of his breath filled Wynonna’s nostrils. Her imagination told her the rankness came from yesterday’s victim. He had not brushed his teeth. “Your lips. I think it’s a delectable start to the evening. There’s something about the thought of you screaming without a mouth that makes my toes curl.” Barney tripped over one of wires he worked so hard to install.

The crash of the camera interrupted Jeffrey’s fantasizing and the two entered a heated dispute. Wynonna studied the situation frantically. She flexed her hands and feet. There was no slack in the lines themselves, but during her rough transfer from the backroom to the stage, she somehow found the sense in that drug-induced delirium to clench her fists and flex her forearms. This flexing granted her the smallest of spaces in the rope wound around her wrists. It would hurt, but Wynonna had a trick up her sleeve. She could dislocate her thumbs.

In one of her darker days in the psychiatric ward, she found that by squeezing her thumb and wrenching her wrist down, she could overstretch the ligament holding her thumb in place. She had been able to pop it in and out ever since. The men continued to cuss up a storm, and on a particularly loud utterance of “I said fix it, you bastard!” Wynonna swallowed a little grunt of pain. One thumb down. She began to wriggle as discreetly as possible.

The rope was a third of the way up the first knuckle when her captor stomped off in a rage. She froze, but he was so distracted by his henchman’s incompetence that he didn’t notice the rope had ridden up on her hand. But surely one of them would notice if her hand were suddenly free. Even if she managed to free both hands, how would she free her legs in time?

Barney bent down to pick up the camera, and that’s when she saw it. Her ticket out. A glint poked out of his backpocket; the grip of a shiny, black pistol. With her one hand fully free, she snagged the rope as it sagged and pulled it taught, wrapping her still trapped hand over the long length of knotted rope. With her shirt sleeve shrugged, high, you could hardly tell the difference.

“Hey you, Bernie, or whatever...”

“Fuck off, bitch.”

“Yeah whatever, why are you putting both of those cameras all the way over there?” He paused in his work, eyeing her warily. “I just mean, if you’re going to do something this awful, you might as well get some decent goddamn angles for the viewers. You know what I mean? Give the people what they want. Close-ups of all the action.”

“You’re full of shit, I ought’a gag yeh.” He muttered, turning away to focus on his electronics.

“I mean, you’re not wrong, but haven’t you seen a porno lately?” Her tongue felt dry and clumsy, but she did what she did best and talked with all the bravado she could muster. All she needed was an opening. “All those POV shots, getting down and dirty, it’ll keep them on the edge of their seats.”

Barney practically exuded irritation. He trudged up to her and jabbed his dirty finger into her sternum. Great gobs of oily perspiration leaked from his bruised skin and sunk into his unkempt stubble. “You. Don’t. Tell. Me. What. To. DO!” With each word, he prodded her harder and harder. She swung on the ropes, holding on for dear life with her four fingers, her thumb flopping uselessly. She prayed he wouldn’t notice the different tensions of the ropes. His beady eyes peered into hers, and a bead of sweat dribbled down her face. Then a creaking noise echoed from across the room.

The noise hooked his attention, and he turned instinctively. Adrenaline surged in Wynonna’s veins and time slowed to a crawl. Her four fingers released their tenuous hold on the rope, and she lunged for his rear pocket while his head remained turned. She plunged into his pocket, her pointer finger hooked into the trigger guard, and miraculously managed to secure a hold on the gun. He jumped in surprise, and she yanked. The safety was off.

Halfway out of his pocket, the trigger caught and the barrel fired. The bullet tore through his right ass-cheek and he howled, twisting towards the source of the pain. In his shock and confusion, he stumbled over another wire and fell to the stage, smearing blood everywhere. The handgun clattered to the ground, but Wynonna knew she couldn’t reach it with her arm still tied. She popped her thumb back into place with her other hand and scrabbled at the knot that trapped her.

A shout echoed from the dark, unlit half of the Bronze. With the blood pounding in her ears and the stage lights blinding her, she couldn’t make out voice or its message. The knot in the rope held, and in her heighted state she couldn’t compose herself to dislocate her other thumb and escape. Something whirred through the air at an incredible speed. The rope suddenly swung limply, and Wynonna recognized the fletching of a crossbolt quivering in the wall behind her.

Still tied at the ankles, she dropped forward, reaching for the gun. She sprawled forward on her stomach and seized it with both hands. Barney still scrabbled wildly, howling in anguish. Wynonna twisted and let off two rounds which severed the ropes binding her. A familiar blonde woman leapt onto the stage, and slammed her heel into the man’s head. The howling stopped instantly. Buffy and Wynonna stared at each other, panting heavily. Several other familiar faces soon arrived, bearing medieval weaponry that looked intimidating yet somewhat ridiculous.

Buffy stretched out a hand and lifted Wynonna to her feet. “Worst birthday ever.” She offered in jest, trying to calm her shaky nerves. The Slayer smiled wryly.

“Are there more?” Giles asked, kneeling beside Xander and trussing the miserable Barney with the wires he had been trying so hard to organize. Wynonna nodded dumbly. She waved towards the back where she had last seen her captive go. Her hand trembled, and a purple bruise blossomed at the base of her palm. That trick would cost her in the morning. With her less injured hand, she clumsily shoved the handgun into her belt, afraid to take it with her, but more afraid leave without it.

“Xander, secure this sorry excuse of a human being and check the exits. Giles, on me. Will, get her out of here.” Buffy ordered, her eyes scanning the dark corners of the club. A light touch on Wynonna’s shoulder caused her to flinch, but it was only the redhead herself. She allowed herself to be guided towards the exit, letting Willow’s soothing voice bring her down. This nightmarish evening was coming to an end. As Wynonna exited through the swinging doors, Wynonna vowed she would never step foot in the Bronze again.

“Oh, you say that now, but people always come back.”

“Come back?” Wynonna almost laughed out loud. “This place was almost the death of me. Twice!”

“You wouldn’t believe how many rituals of the damned, evil schemes, and hostages this place has seen. There was the Order of Aurelius and the Harvest, an evil life-sucking mummy, not to mention all the random vampire attacks.” Wynonna stared at her in disbelief.

“So you’re telling me that people know the mortality rate, but keep coming back?” Willow shrugged, and that was that. “This town is unbelievable.” Wynonna muttered.

At the far end of the alley, a van idled in park. Earlier, Wesley volunteered to keep the getaway car running for the duration. He thought himself awfully courageous for even offering to be involved at all, considering less than an hour ago a fleshy, pink monstrosity had been threatening to rip off his kneecaps, of which he were particularly fond of.

After the rescue team left the vehicle, Wesley felt quite exposed and vulnerable all by his lonesome. The seconds felt like hours, and his survival instinct spiraled out of control. His imagination began seeing ghouls and beasts beyond the edge of the streetlights. His paranoia grew, and he felt light-headed. Everything felt fuzzy. Was it gas? No, a terrible demonic mind spell, much like that Balthazar’s telekinesis! He shuddered, recalling with vivid clarity how the demon’s outstretched hands sucked Angel into his clutches from across the room. He pressed a button with a quivering finger and felt immediately relieved upon hearing the satisfying clunk of the car’s locking mechanism. “Safe,” he mumbled, “safe at last…” The newly blooded Watcher fainted like the lead in a Nancy Drew novel.

“Damn it, Wesley. Open up!” Willow banged on the glass and tugged at the passenger door, but no such luck. The Watcher was out cold. She tossed her hands up in defeat. “And to think, I was supposed to be at home studying a chapter on magicking different kinds of locks tonight.”

Wynonna plucked a bobby pin out of Willow’s hair and tested its springiness. “Got any more of these?” Willow smiled and pulled a second one from the nape of her neck and handed it over. Wynonna crouched by the lock and began fashioning the bobby pins into lock-picks. She was out of practice, but now was as good a time as any to freshen up an old skill.

“Willow, can I ask you something?” The metal pin bent easily into a right angle. “How… how did you find me?” _Was it real, or did I hallucinate everything?_

“It was your sister, Waverly.” _Bottom pick down and to the right, but not too much tension. That’s it, ease up on it._ “Believe it or not, she came to me using a spell. It was really advanced, I don’t know how she-” Wynonna cursed loudly as she jiggled the top pick. She really was out of practice.

A terrible chill ran down her spine. Why did Willow stop talking?

Jeffrey’s eyes were filled with murderous rage. He choked the redhead from behind with one arm, and struggled against her with his free hand. His breath came in frenzied gasps, and his sleeve was torn and bloodied. Several arrows sprouted from his flesh. Buffy’s aim left the cannibal wounded but enraged. He escaped the Bronze, but knew his moments were numbered unless he secured a bargaining chip. This girl would do nicely, he thought to himself as he held a knife flush against her throat.

The Earp blood in Wynonna’s veins surged. A movement that was not her own drew the handgun from the back of her belt in a style of quick draw that she had not learned in this life. Her wounded thumb wasn’t a factor, and her fingers encircled the grip like she had been aiming that gun her whole life. Tunnel vision set in, and all she could see down the line of her sights was a greasy curl of black hair dangling right between Jeffrey’s eyes.

The cannibal’s neck snapped violently as the kinetic energy blew gray matter out the back of his skull. His body crumpled on the pavement, twitching. Wynonna, or something inside of her, sealed the man’s fate with a lead kiss.

It was over.

.o0o. END CHAPTER 10 .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BtVS S3 Episode References: none


	11. Fix It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dead bodies are hard to explain. Wouldn't it be easier if they just... disappeared? After hours of horrible happenings, Wynonna is at the end of her rope.

Or so she thought. The next few hours were a blur. Wynonna’s head throbbed, her chest ached, her eyes blurred through tears of exhaustion. Wouldn’t anyone let her rest? Someone pressed a glass of water into her hands. She gulped it down, only to vomit it back on the table. Her anxiety spiraled.

The stark lights cast an unhealthy pallor in the police station lobby. Wynonna’s leg jittered involuntarily as she sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Up-down up-down up-down. It was only a matter of time until she drilled a hole through the floor. Willow placed a steadying hand on Wynonna’s leg, and Buffy rubbed soothingly between her shoulder blades. Giles paced impatiently at the counter. Normally he didn’t mind queuing, but this charade had gone on long enough. Xander offered him a candy bar from the vending machine, but was ignored as Giles smacked the service bell for the third time. A very irritated clerk finally engaged with the sleep-deprived librarian.

“What’re they saying?” Buffy asked as Xander ambled over.

“They still want to keep her for more questioning.” He spoke through a mouthful of chocolate and peanuts. “Giles is trying to talk them out of it.”

“The poor girl has gone through enough!” They heard Giles say testily and slam his palm on the counter. “Let her-”

“S’my fault…” Wynonna mumbled through her hands. “All my fault. Shoulda stayed away, shouldn’t have gone back.”

“No, this is not your fault.” Buffy responded. “Look at me. You don’t deserve this, any of it. But the Hellmouth breeds… horrible things, and that’s why I’m here. To stop it.”

“You didn’t.” Those brutally raw words hung in the air. The damage was already done.

“They’ll send me back…” Wynonna said in a flat monotone. “…to some group home in Purgatory. Like they always do.” The gang hastily refuted the notion, insisting it wouldn’t happen. But Wynonna knew. She’d lived through this before. When things went wrong, her life would be upturned and thrown back into the maws of the foster system. With Mrs. Bleeker dead and Jeffrey “missing”, these people wouldn’t think twice about sending her away.

 _But don’t you worry!_ Echoed the cannibal’s words in her memory. _She was only the appetizer._ _Tonight’s the main course. Lucky you._ The water churned in her stomach at the mental recollection of investigators carting a half-full body bag being out the front door of the house she was starting to call home. What kind of a monster eats his own mother?

A disgruntled officer interjected into Giles’s heated debate with the clerk and counseled him in a muted tone. Whatever he had to say appeared to placate the Giles’s temper, and he thanked the officer with an attitude more typical of his British pleasantries.

“You’re free to go, bloody vultures.” Giles told the exhausted teenager. “They don’t think you’re a viable suspect, so they won’t detain you or file charges. But they’ve asked you return tomorrow at noon. They need to ask more questions with regards to this cursed ordeal.”

“Where are they sending me?” Wynonna asked hoarsely, dread coating her throat.

“As of today, Wynonna, you’re eighteen. You’re free to go wherever you’d like.” Eighteen. She was eighteen. A legal adult! No more foster homes. But how would she live? Where would she go? Eighteen meant she had less than a decade before time ran out. With less than ten years to go, the fiends of Hell that haunted her nightmares would hunt her down. But would she last ten years against the monstrosities of Sunnydale? Everyone started talking at once. _Stay with me_. They insisted. _Only until the dust settles._ Their offers bounced off her like meaningless chatter. _It will be okay_. They said. _Self-defense_. They said. _We’ll vouch for you_. They said.

Tonight, the questions revolved around the remains of Mrs. Bleeker. Tomorrow, the police would ask about Jeffrey. What would she tell them? It would only be a matter of time before they accessed her criminal records from all those years ago. Would she tell them that for the second time in her life, she experienced the sound of blood and froth spraying at her feet while her body absorbed the recoil of a bullet traveling 2,500 feet per second? Would she tell them how easy it was? Would they believe she didn’t want to do it?

Wynonna lurched to her feet and walked unsteadily towards the exit. She had to leave. If she stayed any longer, the walls of the station would entomb her, and she would suffocate on the overwhelming concern of her friends. Her feet pounded on the pavement. She left their worried cries behind. Her legs would not let her stay. She ran.

Streetlights cut through the darkness, ruining her night vision as she fled. Panic welled inside of her in horrible synchrony. She would step into a pool of light and become momentarily blinded. Then she would step into the cloying darkness and the panic would resume. The panic made her run faster.

Since her conscious mind was at a lost, her subconscious formulated a plan. The roar of the highway approached, and the gaudy pink and blue neon sign of the rat trap motel erupted into view. Wynonna pounded her fists against the metal door, willing the girl within to answer. The moments stretched interminably into the night.

 _Please, just open the door._ She pleaded with the universe.

Faith answered. The rims of her eyelids were red and inflamed. She was barefoot, and wore nothing but a ratty white wife-beater and shorts that were frayed beyond what a civilized person would deem acceptable. The Slayer clutched a Pabst can in her other hand. Faith looked bad.

Wynonna barged in. The room was in disarray. Dirty clothes hung off every surface. A day old, half eaten container of Chinese food made the room smell like soy sauce and lo mein. It was a disaster, but somehow reflected the situation at hand.

“I didn’t want to.” Wynonna blurted out. “But I did it. He made me do it. And they’ll find out. He was a monster, but not-not like the ones we kill, but they won’t understand. Even if I lie, the others won’t. They’ll find out what I did. They’ll put me away again! Faith, it’s not my fault!” Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Woah, hey stop. Slow down.” Faith crumpled the now empty can and tossed it aside. Wynonna sunk onto the unmade bed, sobbing uncontrollably. Faith rallied against her own inner agony and pulled her close. When Wynonna’s cries subsided, she told Faith everything. How Jeffrey kidnapped her. His plan to cut her apart and eat her over the internet. How she was rescued. How she killed him. Everything. Then silence.

Faith digested it all, and came to a conclusion. “We’ll fix it.” She mumbled. “Fix everything. Make it go away.” She pulled Wynonna to her feet. “Get cleaned up. We have work to do. And when it’s done, we’ll rest. I promise you, Wy.”

Wynonna nodded, and went to the bathroom to wash her face. The water came out cloudy and unfiltered from the tap. It was cold as ice and cut through her feverish panic. It was exactly what she needed. Her eyes stung fiercely and she reached out for a towel to dry her face. Her hands gripped crusty fabric, and she paused. It was not a towel she grabbed, but a shirt stained red and brown. Dried blood flaked off the shirt and sprinkled a fine dust in the sink. Wynonna dropped it in revulsion and wiped her face off with her forearm.

Wynonna joined Faith at the door and took the stairs two at a time. The Slayer’s eyes were hard with determination, and she marched to a car on the far side of the parking lot while clutching a coat hanger. Wynonna wanted to ask about the shirt, but stopped. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Faith reshaped the hanger, caught the door’s locking mechanism, and in no time, the vehicle was hotwired and ready to roll.

“Where is he?” Wynonna knew what she meant. They pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards the Bronze. When they arrived, Jeffrey’s body was contorted into rigor mortis. Faith’s lifted the body with little effort and shoved it unceremoniously in the trunk. They drove away from the crime scene. The smell was awful.

Faith didn’t have to say what the ultimate destination was. Wynonna knew. The docks was their ticket out of this mess. Wynonna knew that what was happening was wrong, but the energetic momentum felt unstoppable. These events were already in motion. It was too late, like they had already happened. But then Faith took a detour, and for a moment Wynonna thought she was mistaken. Relieved, she let out a breath she had been holding since they left the motel. They wouldn’t dump a body at the docks, of course not. Faith wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t dare do something so reckless. They pulled into another alley and stopped next to a dumpster. “Pop the trunk.” Faith ordered, and left the car running.

Wynonna’s blood ran cold when the Slayer reappeared. Faith dragged another body behind her and with grim determination, crammed the dead man into the remaining space in the trunk. Faith slammed the door shut and climbed back into the driver’s seat. She stared out the windshield listlessly.

They sat in silence, the gravity of the situation weighing heavier by the second. “Faith, what did you do?” Wynonna croaked. The man had a ragged hole punched through his sternum. It was a wound only a stake could leave.

“What does it look like?” Faith snapped harshly. Her lead foot sped them forward towards their final destination. “We’re killers, Wy.” She said coldly. “It’s what we do. It’s who we are. Sometimes we have to clean up the mess.”

The car pulled up to the water’s edge. Wynonna exited and watched the scene like the audience at a movie. Nothing she could say or do would stop what was about to happen. The course was set. Faith buckled the two bodies into the front seats and opened all the windows. The Slayer left the car in neutral, and with a violent shove, pushed the car over the side into the river. Water rushed in the open windows. The vehicle sunk rapidly, and in less than a minute, the exhaust pipe was completely submerged and quickly vanishing into the water’s depths. The Slayer turned to her, panting heavily after her exertions. A wildness glittered in the darks of her eyes.

“Oh god.” The enormity of their actions hit Wynonna like a sucker punch. Killing, no murdering, one person in self-defense and dealing with the body had been terrible enough to deal with. But Faith had just tied her into an additional dead body and a murder she knew nothing about. Wynonna was now an accessory to the destruction of evidence. The obstruction of justice!  “Oh god, oh god, oh god, what did you do?”

Faith moved towards her, holding out her arms. “We’re clean, babe. It’s over.” But Wynonna stepped back. Her mind reeled. The consequences to this would be dire. Somehow investigators would find the car. They would put two and two together, and come to the conclusion that Wynonna was responsible for not one, but two murders. And now it looked like she tried to hide the bodies! It didn’t matter that it wasn’t her idea, she was an accomplice. The law would lock her away forever.

“Over, it’s over?” Wynonna responded hysterically. “It’s not over, you’ve made things exponentially worse!”

“No, it’s fine! don’t you see? I fixed it!” Faith took another step forward. “You needed help, and I didn’t even question it.”

“Help?” She pointed at the water desperately. “You call stealing a car and sinking bodies in the river help? I came to you because the last several days have been a literal nightmare. Not only did my chemistry teacher drug and try to eat me, but then Jeffrey drugged and tried to eat me. That was after he ate, and hopefully drugged, his own mother who helped me escape Purgatory for the insanity of this goddamn Hellmouth. Then I shot him dead in the street! Shoved his body behind a dumpster, and found Mrs. Bleeker’s remains at my house when all I really wanted was to change out of these murder clothes. I spent the rest of the night under interrogation with the police about the body, and now you’ve gone and… helped me.” She said bitterly. Faith reached out but Wynonna swatted her away. “You asshole, when they find out what you’ve done…”

“ _We’re_ in this together.” Faith growled. “There’s no backing out now.” Wynonna turned on her heel and started to leave. Faith was having none of it and followed right on her heels. “You disgusting, murderous bitch. You snitch and we both go down!”

“Get away from me!” Wynonna crossed her arms across her chest and charged ahead. “We’re finished.”

“So what, you’re just gonna walk away from this? After everything we’ve gone through together? I thought you trusted me!” Faith roared in her ear. “I trusted you!”

“Obviously, we were both mistaken.” Wynonna fired back. The two women stopped dead in their tracks. Their fiery tempers blazed in the darkness. “I’m done. I want nothing to do with you, with this, with any of it! And I don’t want to see your fucking face again. Ever.”

“Fuck you.” Faith hissed, a hairsbreadth away from her face.

“In your dreams.” She spat, not missing a beat.

Allen Finch and Jeffrey Bleeker started to bloat at the bottom of the river.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

The bus station was eerily quiet. At 4:30 in the morning, most citizens were asleep in their beds, early morning commuters had yet to walk out the door, and the third-shifters were only halfway through their day. Departing lines lit up the display in squashed white font on a dark blue background. Wynonna’s eyes strained with exhaustion. The Bluntline Express headed north? Or the Greyhound headed east? The ticket clerk’s irritation grew steadily. She snapped at Wynonna in irritation, making it clear that if she wasn’t going to buy a bus ticket, she’d best get her ass out of line so she could return to her nap behind the counter. Wynonna rubbed her palms into her eye sockets.

What a choice. Stay and risk arrest by the authorities, or run away. The choice was obvious. Why wouldn’t she play to her strengths? At least she was good at something, she lamented to herself miserably. A new departure flashed on the screen. Albuquerque, New Mexico. Good enough. After a fair bit of grumbling, the clerk slapped a white and black ticket on the counter. Wynonna pocketed her escape and wondered what new demons would haunt her there, or if this escape would fix anything at all. Maybe her life was permanently broken.

The bus’s garish seat coverings made paintings at the MOMA look conservative. Orange and blue triangles covered a lurid green background with a healthy smattering of yellow spots. Under the fluorescent lighting, it looked like a five year old’s geometric nightmare. In the upper right-hand corner of her cellphone, the battery read a scant 3%. It was enough for what she had to do. She opened her email, and wrote:

 

> Willow thinks you have talent. I wish you would live a normal life, but you and I know our family is anything but normal. Use that talent to protect yourself. Maybe someday you’ll be the one to break this curse.
> 
> You saved my life. I wish I could thank you in person, but I would only put you in harm’s way. Trouble follows me everywhere I go. You’re better off if I’m out of your life. ~~I love you.~~
> 
> Her heart sank as she rewrote the last sentence: “Don’t look for me.”

Sent with 1% to spare. Wynonna popped open the back and slid out the little black SIM card. She snapped it between her fingers, and with grim finality, flicked it out the window.

The bus’s engine sputtered to life. “It’s not my fault...” Wynonna whispered over the grind of the tires on asphalt. She would never escape this. Nothing would stop the cycle. Not running across the continent. Not relinquishing her past. Nothing but death. As the unsettling town of Sunnydale shrank in the rearview mirror, Wynonna prayed that Albuquerque would not have so many gothic cemeteries.

.o0o. END CHAPTER 11 .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BtVS S3 Episode References: Bad Girls


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynonna's on the lam. The McCreadys are up to something. A familiar criminal reveals himself. And our favorite librarian discovers something... peculiar.

The dark room was filled with a myriad of competing odors. Rosemary and cinnamon, turpentine, and the fresh smell of campfire blended into a strange and musty smell. Without any ventilation, the scents were trapped like the many oddities within. Bits of bone and twine in corked off vials. Mysterious paintings with oils that were never in the same place. Among the wicked knives, curious vases, and strange pendants was a thin, black box with velvet cushions filled with stones. In an empty pocket, next a blackened orb of cracked stone, Curtis placed the sugilite crystal with the etching face down.

The gruff man counted the other crystals, seemed satisfied, and snapped the lid shut. He dabbed a bit of oil from a nearby shelf on the brassy lock with the pad of his thumb and mumbled something with his eyes closed. The air around the box shimmered and he grunted in satisfaction. After a quick perusal of the perimeter, he ascended the stairs on the far side of the room.

Curtis shut the trapdoor with a muffled bang, and the wooden door quickly morphed into a seamless and uninteresting bit of concrete. He tossed the feedbags back in place one by one, and exited the little white and green shed at the edge of his vegetable gardens. Intent on tending to the welfare of his baby girl, he didn’t even stop to see how his tomatoes were doing.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Some people have all the luck in the world. Some people don’t. Carl was one such fellow whose luck always seemed to run dry. He had something to tell the boss-man, and strutted up to the largest trailer in the park. He entered without knocking. Amateur mistake.

“Stupid Carl!” The trailer’s occupant roared in a fitful rage. A furious tower of fur blasted out the front door, leaving Carl gasping in the driver’s seat with a massive pair of scissors buried handle deep in his chest. The stabber’s Mohawk stuck out at ridiculous angles, a product of his fingers angrily ripping at his scalp. Bobo Del Rey was not a happy camper.

Revenants and familiars scattered out of the path of the furious revenant. He stomped over to his car and pealed out of the trailer like a bat out of hell. He throttled his steering wheel with a vice-like grip and his knuckles popped through his skin like walnuts. His mind careened in a thousand different directions, but his course was the same. It was always the same. The treehouse.

There she waited. She waited in the little house among the branches he built her. Willa. He swept through the entrance and knelt by her bedside. She was deeply asleep, lulled to slumber by a cocktail of medication and the hum of the machinery clustered around where she lay.

“First Maldito…” An eerie voice echoed in the small room and Bobo’s body went rigid. “Then New Orleans, Cleveland… and now Sunnydale. Your funds have run dry. Whatever will you do now, my dear Bobo?” The intruder’s heels clicked loudly on the floorboards. Bobo turned slowly to face that loathsome woman.

“I’ll tell you what you’ll do.” The witch stopped an uncomfortably close distance away from the revenant. She jammed a pointer finger against his bottom lip and rubbed it unkindly. “You will dig.” She commanded. “Dig, for my boys. That is…” The witch swept her other hand at the machines and tubing piled on the floor, “if you want to be able to afford all this.”

Willa wheezed in her sleep and broke into a fit of coughs. Rusty colored spittle flew against the plastic mask covering her face. Bobo shuddered, knowing each seizure of her diaphragm ripped her insides apart bit by bit. He spit out her finger and gritted his teeth. He was out of money, and out of options.

“Well then. Where do we begin, Constance?” The witch smiled.

.o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o. .o0o.

Balthazar’s amulet caught the glow of the library’s overhead fluorescents. Nestled in the inner lining of Angel’s jacket, the amulet had received an unintentional polishing. It glinted in his hands as he offered it to Giles, who accepted it with an outstretched cloth.

“Thought you’d want to have it. With Balthazar dead and gone, it’ll serve your archives better than my coffee table. Besides, it doesn’t match my aesthetic.”

“Hold on a moment…” Giles paused in the midst of wrapping the demon’s amulet and pushed his glasses higher up on his nose. He peered intently at the ornate backing. After a moment, he showed Angel several geometric shapes etched deep into the metal. “How’s your ancient Icelandic?”

“Out of practice.” He shrugged.

“Just as well. I couldn't remember how to conjugate a verb if I tried.” Giles lamented. “But look here, the number of runes is far fewer than what it would take to spell out the demon’s name. I’m afraid it says something altogether different.”

“What then?” Angel asked, peering over his shoulder at the angular symbols.

“It starts quite the same, but ends differently. If I’m not mistaken, it appears to spell out… Bull… Bulshar.” The two peered at the charm silently.

“What does it mean?” Angel asked as Giles puzzled quietly.

“I’ve no idea.” The librarian admitted, folding the cloth shut. “Perhaps something to do with the “rising” he mentioned as he died. I’ll look into it in the morning.” Giles ducked into his office and slipped the amulet into the top drawer of his desk. Thinking no more of it, he disappeared into the back of the stacks.

.o0o. END CHAPTER 12 .o0o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is a bonus chapter unrelated to the plot, and was written strictly for my own amusement. So this marks the end of Sunny in Purgatory! If you made it this far, thanks for sticking around, and I hope you enjoyed! If this floated your boat, keep an eye out for some exciting sequels works. However, I must return to my other fanfiction that has been on hiatus for far too long. This was a passion project that I couldn't stop myself from thinking about for months, and I simply could not put pen to paper on my other piece until this one was finally complete.
> 
> BtVS episode references: Bad Girls


	13. BONUS CHAPTER: Go Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gage the fish-man was lost in the tunnels. Perhaps it was weeks, perhaps it was months, but after an exceptionally long period of time had passed, he happened across a most peculiar man.

Now one with the Pacific, Gage Petronzi (now a fish-man creature) went on honeymoon with the ocean that stole his heart in a swim along the western seaboard. Her edges ebbed into cavernous tunnels outside of Vancouver, and Gage the fish-man could not resist the temptation to excavate their insides.

There was something dizzying about those passageways, and before long, he could no longer rely on his sense of direction or fishy circadian rhythm. Gage the fish-man was lost in the tunnels. Perhaps it was weeks, perhaps it was months, but after an exceptionally long period of time had passed, he happened across a most peculiar man. He understood how ironic it must seem, a fish-man calling an underground cowboy strange was like a pot calling the kettle black, but he seemed exceptionally… out of place. And underground, no less!

For an under-dweller, he kept his appearance sharp. The dirt smeared on his every inch of exposed skin did nothing to detract from the twinkle in his eye or the lusciousness of his mustache.

“My friend, assuredly you must be in possession of a seven.” Gage the fish-man reluctantly passed over his card to the stranger, and hunkered over his remaining cards. He was convinced the pools of water were reflecting the contents of his hand to the stranger. Now it was his turn, and he would have his revenge! Gage the fish-man, unable to speak properly through his monstrous mouth, wiggled his webbed fingers, and the stranger barked out a laugh.

“Three you say?” Gage the fish-man wobbled his fishy head in what the stranger could only construe as a nod. The stranger laughed hysterically. “I reckon I must tell you, once again, to GO FISH.” This was the last straw. Gage the fish-man threw the cards in the stranger’s face and stormed off. “Hold up now, where’re you going…? Don’t leave me, I’m so alone!” But Gage the fish-man would be told to GO FISH by the stranger no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BtVS S2 E20: Go Fish


End file.
